Byline: Anna Quindlen
I think sometimes about a girl I met in Brooklyn. She was 14, and pregnant and philosophical.
"If Vanise does it, I can," she said, Vanise being the neighborhood dim bulb, the girl whose conversation ranged from a giggle to a shrug, whose own mother said that if you looked in one of her ears you could see daylight.
Vanise had had a baby, and she was so dim that it was commonplace for her to order a slice at the pizza place and then discover she had no money and be obliged to cadge a buck from a boy. (There was some suggestion of a causal relationship between the slice, the cadging and the baby.)
The bottom line was …
Комментариев нет:
Отправить комментарий