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“Thirty-three,” I said, remembering her license. Remembering a lot now that Rain was asking. I could identify her body, too. “An older woman.
“I’d say, ‘Molly, you’re marrying somebody awful,’ and when she said, ‘My choice, Liz,’ I’d say ‘Right you are’ and back off.”
“Do you really still love him?” “Hell, no. I haven’t seen him for fifteen years.” “Like that would matter.”
It’s his Jesus Year, so he was bound to do something, but . . .” She shook her head as she picked up her cup. “. . . not Lavender. She’s the kind of woman who sucks a man dry. The Porters are upset.” “Jesus Year?” Mom sipped her tea, grimaced because it was too hot, and nodded as she put the cup down. “He turned thirty-three. He’s a Christian. Jesus was thirty-three when he was crucified. Christians do something big when they turn thirty-three. They can’t help it. It’s subconscious or something.” I waited for her to go on, but she just took another sip of tea. “Mom, I’m thirty-three.” “Well,
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“Your hair’s too long.” Her narrow lips tightened as she took a step forward. “It makes you look trashy.” “Truth in advertising,” I said and went out to sit on the front porch swing.
“Family that makes you think about killing yourself whenever you’re with them is not family, it’s a biological mugging.”
“Easy,” he said, smiling at me. “That’s just a rumor,” I said.
“So you slept with Molly?” I said. He stopped with his Coke halfway to his mouth, surprised, and then shook his head. “Why do women talk about that stuff?” “It’s like buying on Amazon. It’s good to get the reviews.”
“Is that an invitation to dinner?” I batted my eyes. “I have to feed you, too?” “It’s customary.”
Honestly this entire scene is incredibly epic. They are negotiating a one night stand and it’s hilarious
But sometimes you need a Red Box special to remind you that you’re more than pounds on a scale or a body trying to fit into a dress. Sometimes you need to remember that you’re a human animal and really enjoy the physical pleasures of life.
“You know why Stephen King sets horror stories in small towns?” “Why?” “Secrets,” Jill said. “Burney gossip spreads like wildfire, but the real secrets? Some of those stay buried deep.”
“I get these feelings sometimes. I used to think I was just nuts, but then I saw a therapist who told me that children of alcoholics are usually hyper-aware, reading the landscape for signs of trouble because they never know when things are going to go south.”
He sounded sincere, but I’d heard guys who’d just shot someone sound just as sincere, protesting their innocence. Which made me wonder if I was a tad cynical?
I don’t think this is meant to be funny but it is
“I hate traffic stops,” I said, which surprised him. “No one likes getting pulled over and even if they did nothing wrong, it’s an anxiety producing event. More so for others. Minorities, women. I have a code about that. I only pull over people in those groups if it’s a safety issue. A real one. There’s enough shit in the world. People don’t need more. You’re a white male, Jimmy. You’re at the top of the food chain. Stop whining.”
If only real men could be like Vince then we wouldn’t have so many asshole cops
You tell people to call you Jim. Don’t respond if they call you something else. It won’t take long for them to change. We teach people how to treat us.
“I’m not smart enough to be an atheist. Agnostic.”
Sometimes I don’t think people understand how important great food is in the scheme of mental health.
Dave had mentioned getting buried in Arlington, hopefully on a hill overlooking the Pentagon so he could curse at those fuckers throughout eternity but in the end, he hadn’t cared since he was giving his body to science. There would just be a marker. This casket thing was all for show which the VA was kind of good at.
Nailing how trash both the Pentagon and the VA is. I need to find out if Bob served. Update: he was a Green Beret. Dude gets me.
