Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. ” He leaned back for his soup. Both, perhaps?’ At that, her eyes darkened with fury. What do you know about her, Fred? I am interested. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it.
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