{ ... maybe ... must be... }brushing his teeth he saw the scratch marks on his chest{!.fucking A ... I got laid ... Fucking great ... aunt ... so what...... got fucking laid... }A week later he came home from school and his mother said, "Don't get comfortable, your aunt Faye needs some stuff moved to the basement. Go over and help her, she told me not to worry, she'd feed you supper." From then on it was almost a regular twice a week thing. One time he stopped on the way to school, Faye would. Farrell asked the time. The late morning hour she gave was one more sign that when it didn’t nip at his increasingly slowing heels, age occasionally taunted him from ahead. The prior day hadn’t been so strenuous nor had he drank all that much. Had he? He stretched his arms. Warm between those walls limited his joints popping and cracking. Doing the same in his own cooled hotel room might’ve scared lumberjacks. ‘Did I talk in my sleep?’ Farrell asked. ‘No,’ Inez said. ‘And you don’t snore. More

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