Thanksgiving is all about firsts. The first night Native Americans ate dinner with genocidal dicks who would later steal their land, and also the first time I have to listen to a Dad lecture while high. Not that I’m actually listening. The itch in my throat has evolved into whatever comes after an itch. A worse itch. It feels like poison ivy and mosquito bites and scratchy sweaters all rolled into one, but I can’t cough. I won’t cough. I think he’s figured out something’s up with Alex, but Alex isn’t his kid.
