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Show Woodworth/232 a prostitute and one daughter that won't come home and won't grow up. And one son. Who couldn't be her son anymore, could he? He did the only thing he could do, because once/you are born out of a body, you are always the son of that body as long as you:-are living, and there isn't anything either one of you can do about it, that's just the way it is. The mop handles comes smoothly into her hands, and she backs out, grabbing the handle on the bucket on the way. At the sink, she wets the mop carefully, squeezing it over and over until she is sure it is wet through, and that the water that runs off it isn't gray. The mop handle keeps hitting things, the refrigerator door, the counter tops, the cupboards, and she tells it to "ssshhh," because no one can come in until she has this cleaned up, and she is in bed so that she won't have to be the one to go get more eggs. 'aybe she can even sleep late enough so that she won't have to cook breakfast at all because, after all, mother has been cooking breakfasts for a long, long time. Twenty six years, and how many breakfasts is that? She tries to do the multiplication, but the numbers get lost in her head, so she leans over and pushes at the egg and shell mess with the damp mop. But all that happens is that the mess spreads out across the floor, pushing a thick slime all around in front of the sink. It takes a while for her to notice that her cleaning isn't helping, and then longer to realize that she has to think of another plan. She stops and leans on the mop4. looking down at the mess. Instinctively, she reaches right for her lost drink, sitting beside the flour canister, and finishes it. Time to go to bed. Very soon. The bottle is empty and her |