Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I've shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I'll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that's a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.
━━━ Good Bones / Maggie Smith
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AS FAR AS LOVE SHACKS GO, Rick Flemming's is pretty nice. The thought makes Lola's nose wrinkle in distaste. A whole-body shudder of disgust runs rampant through her. Her mother gets out of the beat-up pickup, slams the door—accidentally? Lola isn't one to guess—and stomps toward the front door, house key clutched in hand like a weapon.
