I was quiet. I was able to be quiet. My sister more than made up for my absence of audible response to every situation. . .
The strange woman at my door holds a knife and a fork. Her cutlery is sharp. She smells of raw oysters. A bag hangs over her shoulders . . .
Jack had been living the good life for a long while but still hadn’t made it out of the day to day dealings his position demanded of him . . .