A bunion of a gal, I called Cousin Betty, leaned on a century-old redwood tree picking at a quarter-size scab on her elbow. She was unsightly, red all over with flakes of skin saluting the wind. When I thought about Betty, I visualized a witch hunched over a littered kitchen table yanking on the blue ligaments of a cold chicken leg with her silver-crowned, tobacco-stained teeth.
I couldn’t help myself.
This complete story can be found in the book Everyday Aspergers
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