“Fuck you,” she growled. The booze was making her mean-spirited, which in turn ignited a mean spirit in me.“Fuck me? Fuck you. No seriously, fuc... you. You’re living here rent-free, and you’re being a serious pain in the ass. Can you pick up after yourself? Maybe do the dishes every once in a while.”She stared at me, her eyes wide and fiery. “What the fuck is your problem?” she said.I glared at her for a long, silent moment. “Jane,” I replied.She crossed her arms, her head tilting to one. She checked the clock and said to Janie: ‘Gotta go, my Foster is here for his hour.’ ‘Such a gorgeous man,’ Janie said. ‘Yes, he is,’ Margie said, casting a glance at the tall elderly man waiting for her. (It is possibly not fair to call Foster Wayne ‘elderly’. He was, indeed, in his early 60’as but that’s not, by our current standards any longer considered ‘elderly’, is it? So, that’s the last time we’ll call this gentleman ‘elderly’.) Margie set her tea cup down and said: ‘Thanks for. More

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