“Things had gone sharply downhill from the Port Authority bus terminal in New York when a hunchbacked old man had hobbled down the entire aisle, coming to rest with a sigh on the backseat next to me. From New York to Philadelphia, I sat yanking at Ma’s trench coat around me as he blew his nose and nibbled food from an oil spotted paper bag. I spent three hours on the same chapter of Valley of the Dolls, worrying that his garlic breath would seep into the fabric of Ma’s coat-that Kippy would smell his breath and think it was me.”
Wally Lamb, “She’s Come Undone”, 1992.
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