Once a person took to living on the streets, it was their choice to offer up information on the life they’d had before. Most people chose to say nothing at all and that was respected. When someone was forthcoming about life before the fall, willing to reveal details, people knew better than to challenge their veracity. Even if something was complete and utter fiction, who was anyone to take that fantasy away? For Mama, her stories were probably the only thing keeping her from dying at the bottom of a bottle every evening.
“It’s nice to see you, Mama,” Ray clutched her hand tighter, “You come here for breakfast most days, is that right?”
“If’ns I can wake up that early,” she cackled, “Sometimes, though, I get too deep into a gibber-jabber with a heap of sleepytime juice and can’t manage t
