She has an awful twitch that takes over her left eye and half her cheek. Her blackish gray hair frizzes up at the bottom and jumps out away from her face. She lost a few teeth from all those years battling an addiction to candy bars. The remnants of this battle still remain on her coffee table, under the seats of her old brown car, and in the drawer of her night table. On the weekends, or on a day off, she throws on one of only a few extra-large grey shirts from vacations to Disney World or Turks and Caicos. She puts on a pair of washed out, flared jeans and slips into her Crocks. She visits her friend’s apartment, the one with the hording problem, and they sit on the couch eating potato chips talking about the good old days. During the week, she works at the supermarket deli. She hasn’t talked to her son in years.