After having a mind scan and biopsy, I’m told We have a mind illness, that the AIDS therapy handbook we pull down from my shelf defines as “largely untreatable, quickly progressive, and fatal. ”
Peter is scrubbing the turkey, twisting their face in disgust as he slaps the gizzards in to the sink. Carol is rolling pie crusts, describing the virtues of reducing over genuine butter. The kitties hover wide-eyed into the doorway.