My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. “My dear Anna,” he answered. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. ” He said, running his fingers lightly over one pink nipple. “Promise. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash.
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