She Who Waits (Low Town, #3)

by Daniel Polansky

‘So what are we going to do about it?’ ‘I’m going to do nothing about it, and you’re going to do less.’

I spent a while waiting for my lungs to forgive me. Eventually they decided we were quits, and I rolled a cigarette to spite them.

‘Mom,’ the girl began, extending the word to about seven syllables. ‘Junior stole my sweetie.’ Junior could go without eating a sweetie. Could have gone without eating dinner or tomorrow’s breakfast as well. Really, the entire household would have been well served dedicating themselves to a few weeks’ fast.