After pissing like a horse that just won the Kentucky derby, I wandered invisible through the house. I found the family in the kitchen around a small ...able. Mindy was toying with a piece of grapefruit, while her dad—a tall man named Ernest, in his mid-thirties, sitting in a blue bathrobe tight against his pronounced beer belly—watched Fox News, cursing at the latest thing the Democrats in the Senate had done to, "Fuckin' America right into poverty, they is!" Ernest!" his wife, a hot MILF named. The snow had finally been cleared away enough (half by the sun, rather than the snowplows) for her to make it in only a half-hour longer than a good-weather time. Ginny missed her family, and that gave her a sort of melancholy even while she was with them. She was not at all convinced by Sunday night that anything was going right for her, that her dreams would not stay all in her mind. The following Monday, Ginny was eating lunch at the counter in a diner a block from where she worked when. More

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