“the girl whispered as they squatted on the cement front porch and peered into the big bay window. All the houses were dark except the dandelion of muted light in the window of this split-level. Ginger watched the old man, dressed like Klass in bow tie and plaid vest, pour beer from a beaded can of Budweiser into a teacup. A white candle dripped liquid wax over a green wine bottle. The man was talking animatedly, tipping his chin down as if listening intently, then throwing his head back and lau...ghing. Though she couldn't see the sides of the table, Ginger knew this was a lonely heart's dinner, or like the tea parties she'd had as a child, arranging dolls in chairs, setting a table of tiny ceramic cups and saucers and making polite, one-sided conversation about the weather and the price of limes. Though the man was clearly disturbed and there was no excuse for leaving your penis out ever, Ginger felt sympathy for the old guy. The way he dressed reminded her of her father's vestments, old-fashioned and slightly seedy, and she realized that the new church members connected her father's antiquated robes to something gothic and dangerous.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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