It’s true he has no friends to speak of but he seems happy enough. Doesn’t he? He’s just shy. That’s what it is. I’m
My father stirs in the kitchen boiling coffee, crisping fried potatoes, night sleep a seldom companion. The sun a pale light through the windows.
−Hiroshima 1946 My mother When my hair began falling out, my mother got down on her knees and picked up one hair at a