Loïc Age Fifteen San Antonio, Texas“Hope is a powerful thing. It always kept me fighting for every tomorrow.”
—Loïc Berkeley
I spy black mold running along the caulk on the back of the sink, a sponge that is more gray than the teal color it’s supposed to be, and a sink full of dishes that should have been washed last week.
I think back to Glenda’s house. I haven’t lived there in two years, but I’ll never forget the maddening whiteness of it.
But which is worse—disgusting grossness or insanity-inducing starkness?
I think I’m going to pick black mold for $500, Alex.
Yep, I’d take the white over this any day.
I smile as I think of Mrs. Peters, the sweet old lady I stayed with for a few weeks before coming here. To say that she had an obsession with Alex Trebek would be an understatemen
