“The account is totally emptyyyy.”

I stared at the heavy gold rings sparkling on Pamela’s fingers.

She hadn’t spoken to Beatrice in ten years, but she had worn a brand-new black silk dress to stand over her grave today.

I was twenty-seven years old.

I was two months behind on my rent, eating cheap soup for dinner, and driving a 1998 Buick Century with 190,000 miles on it.

The muffler rattled against the frame every time I hit a speed bump.