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When they looked at me, I could see my need reflected back at me.That first day, they stood there, looking at me, sussing me out, asking me questions like did I have a boyfriend, did I drink, what did I want to be when I graduated? But the room was so pretty, so light, so clean, with a slightly faded Persian rug right in the middle — such a far cry from the dirty, loud chaos I’d been living.He’d moved away and on with a new life — also filled with drug and health challenges — and we talked very rarely.

I would like to join the party dedicated to getting our house in order. Kunstler skewers everything from kitsch to greed, prejudice, bloodshed, and brainwashing in this wily, funny, rip-roaring, and profoundly provocative page- turner, leaving no doubt that the prescriptive yet devilishly satiric A World Made by Hand series will continue Also: Published as an E-book for the first time!

The rooms were the size of a stuffy New York City bedroom.

A bunk bed, another single bed, a dresser, and a window. But by the time I was put into foster care — after seeing my parents deal with detox and relapse and therapy and methadone clinics and lost jobs and lost custody — I’d gone from being an affectionate, wide-eyed teenage girl who biked through green, suburban streets, recited melodramatic poems with her friends, and knew every ’70s rock record by heart to a quiet, passive, closed creature.

Dad was the brooding type, a savant guitarist, very Mediterranean.

We embodied that perfectly normal sort of suburban life — the spoils at Christmas; we’d dressed up when our grandparents came to visit; Catholic sermons; long, languid days spent swimming in the sea.

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