Life Goes On With Fragile Normalcy.

They Grew Fat And Happy--the Horses, Not The Children, Or Marlena For That Matter.

Afterward, I Curl Around Her. We Lie In Silence Until Darkness Falls, And Then, Haltingly, She Begins To Talk...she Speaks Without Need Or Even Room For Response, So I Simply Hold Her And Stroke Her Hair. She Talks Of The Pain, Grief, And Horror Of The Past Four Years; Of Learning To Cope With Being The Wife Of A Man So Violent And Unpredictable His Touch Made Her Skin Crawl And Of Thinking, Until Quite Recently, That She'd Finally Managed To Do That. And Then, Finally, Of How My Appearance Had Forced Her To Realize She Hadn't Learned To Cope At All.

... A Gaggle Of Old Ladies Is Glued To The Window At The End Of The Hall Like Children Or Jailbirds. They're Spidery And Frail, Their Hair As Fine As Mist. Most Of Them Are A Good Decade Younger Than Me, And This Astounds Me. Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.--there Are Five Of Them Now, White Headed Old Things Huddled Together And Pointing Crooked Fingers At The Glass.

It's Just A Crazy Damned Life, That's All.

Jacob: I've Never Seen So Much Manure. Wade: Baggage Stock Horses. They Pack'em In 27 A Car. Jacob: How Do You Stand The Smell? Wade: What Smell?