Never Advise
“Bad for the lungs,” Anita Lebron scolded. “But then you like to tempt fate, don’t you? Don’t worry, it will all work out.”
Their aunt seemed aware of parts of John’s psyche even his sisters weren’t privy to. John had never let on that he often experienced a rush of alarm when he passed a mirror. Who, in fact, was he? A missing person? A body without a soul? He was hiding something from himself, and perhaps it was best if he listened to some advice. He stubbed out his cigarette in a potted geranium, but remained unconvinced that he should care about his health or his habits.
“We’re all killed by something,” he said.
“But we don’t have to rush it, do we?” Anita Lebron removed the cigarette butt to ensure that the nicotine wouldn’t poison the plant. “You’re a good boy, John,
