Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made.
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.