thump. thump. Thump. Kate stomped down the stairs.
Thurman took a deep breath and closed his eyes, summoned resignation to the day:
This moment, this body, this home.
They are not mine.
They belong to all but me.
That really helps, doesn’t it. I’m so helpful said Phyllis.
Thurman felt a whimper of protest, but armor closed around it.
His coffee a puddle of lukewarm grounds. He poured it down his throat and set the mug on the counter with a hard clink as his daughter rounded the corner.
“Well, g’mornin’ Sweetie! And how are you today!?” Thurman beamed.
The Average Life of Thurman Dogood 