’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. “I know the place you mean—very good cooking for such an out-of-the-way show.
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