"Thin for you, Dick?" he giggled. "Please, Father." Dick answered. He still hated the taste, and the batter he was mixing was double chocolate to disguise as much as possible even the texture, once mixed in. Mother was in the bedroom. As usual. Dick wondered who was with her this time. Today was Dick's birthday. This morning, Jonathon, the ex-psychiatry student, one of Mother's currents, had visited for a couple of hours. Dick opened to door to his knock, and Jonathon held out a gaily wrapped package. "I stole this for you," he smiled, trying to curry favor probably, though Dick was surprised that Jonathon had noticed him. "How did you know?" Dick asked. But Jonathon's face was blank, looking over his head toward the guts of the house. "Coincidence," Dick muttered, but he unpeeled the giftwrap to find The Complete Poems of TS Eliot, with a "To Dick 1972, from Jonathon," scrawled on the title page in thick blue ink. He opened it further to The Hollow Men. "Thanks Jonathon," but when he looked up, Jonathon had already disappeared.
