I got out the miniature Snickers that the little no-necks didn’t get on Halloween night, and I ate at least a dozen, even though they are not wheat-or-dairy-free. Looking back, I think it was an act of rebellion, some kind of subconscious “Fuck you” to Sam. At the time I was so busy getting stoned on the sugar that I didn’t stop to figure out what was going on. I just wanted not to feel everything so intensely. Every time I went to get another one, though, I’d feel that Sam was giving me the eye. “Honey,” I’d say, “you gotta eat them, or they go bad. Look, they have dates on them.” He can look
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