“I wish you didn’t. " The Wastrel laughed. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. He first met her when he had caught her smoking behind the Joliet LaudrO-Matic one cool overcast day in late August. The few whites he had ever known generally offered to pet him when they really wanted to kick him. A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. . "Mercy on us! what have I said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while I run for the ratifia and rosa solis. " "The pianist?" "Yes.
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