Acorn, Honey, Fat, and Foxglove
There was a girl named Angela. She lived on the fourth floor of a building that only went up to three. One day, she came downstairs. – The book of Dan and Angela, March, 1991 * * * I’ve not seen the old building for, probably, thirty years. But here it is, almost exactly as it was the morning that my mom stood right there packing our car, with her puffy eyes and cracking voice trying her best, and failing miserably, to keep a lid on the pure fucking rage that she felt towards Dad. Trying to make me feel…