““What have you done?” she asked when she walked in. “You look like Catwoman.” Jordan’s eyebrows had for some reason been tweezed down to scraggly, arching lines. It was early evening, the night of Dottie’s heart attack, and Erica had just gotten home from the hospital. All she wanted now was dinner—a plate of something steaming and aromatic, which hadn’t come out of a machine—but she was startled when she saw Jordan. He was sitting on the living room couch, rolling a joint, and he looked a bit ...like a transvestite. Erica took off her coat, still staring at him. Jordan shrugged. “I had a little accident,” he said, and he looked embarrased. “You know yesterday I was freebasing for the first time, and I cooked the baking soda with the cocaine, like you’re supposed to—I mean, I had a detailed recipe—and then when it was all dried and ready, I lit a pipe of it, and it sort of exploded in my face. It’s a miracle I wasn’t hurt; the flame just jumped up and burned my eyebrows, but the skin was barely touched.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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