“Your shoes are fucked. So is your body. And your spectacles.” She held up two halves of his reading glasses, one in each hand. “Every way you look at it, you’re fucked. How do you think you’re going to make it to Berwick?” It reminded him of the very deliberate way in which David swore: as if he had carefully considered all the options and, given what he felt for his father, the foulest expressions were the only ones suitable. “I am—as you rightly point out—fucked.”
