Chapter 22: A Visit from the DHSMy first mistake that day was to think home cooking would somehow make our apartment seem more normal, more “real,” as opposed to the “false home” we lived in, given that Jackson and I were raging homosexuals. Or…whatever. Since Italian food is about all I know how to cook, I started early by boiling down tomatoes to make real homemade sauce. Nothing said “mother” and “apple pie” and “wholesome family values” like homemade pasta sauce.
Jackson worked a disappearing act on the cornrows in Noah’s hair for fear that it might look “unusual.” I trimmed my goatee a little, and I only do that for funerals and presidential elections. As noon approached, we dressed in wrinkle-free clothes, and I even went so far as to wear a belt and trim my fingernails and put on s
