This story has no single definitive point in time when it could be said to have started here. It cannot be said that when Alice and I were taken into two separate foster homes at the age of eight our lives would cross the paths of the three others in this room but we would never meet again. Life is capricious enough without wild assumptions having a say in the making or the delusion of providence holding the deciding ace in any predetermination.
If I were to list the catalogue of misdemeanours I committed as a juvenile, or the petty crimes I was involved in as a young man, then add the violence of my later years, none would fully explain what led my twin sister to ask the opening question of her three invited guests this night, nor would one find any connecting items of merit in the achie
