A Story by the Author of Gone GirleBook - 2014
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She came up here for college, but her daddy got cancer, and the farm got sold, and ends stopped meeting …
But big house in the city, husbands who didn’t beat them and helped with the kids, sometimes with careers but always with book clubs. And still they felt sad. That’s what they always ended up saying: “But I’m just said.” Felling sad means having too much time on your hands, usually.
“… I’m not haunted, I’m just a run-of-the-mill teen sociopath. You pushed me too hard, I killed you. ...”
This tiny teen needed a grown-up to move in the world, and there was nothing a con girl could use more than a great con kid. “What do you do?” people would ask, and I’d say, “I’m a mom.”
But I was either screwed or not screwed, so I chose to believe I wasn’t. … Convincing myself what I was doing was reasonable. Not decent, but reasonable,
"When people ask me that question that everyone asks: What do you do? I'd say, I'm in customer service, which was true. To me that's a nice day's work when you make a lot of people smile. I know that sounds too earnest, but it's true. I mean I would rather be a librarian, but I worry about the job security. Books may be temporary; dicks are forever."
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