Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.
I’m picking up Lightning’s prescription at the vet . . . the new girl, Lauren, is at the desk.
I can hear a woman weeping loudly from back in the hospital area.
“That doesn’t sound good,” I say.
“A husky attacked her dog at the dog park,” Lauren says. “A little Yorkie. Broke its neck.”
“That’s awful.” I don’t even have the heart to ask her if she cut the pills on the lines.