Louie didn’t answer.
“Okay. Yeah. I get it, Louie.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, as Max, my parents’ Hungarian sheep dog, poked his nose through a crack in the door and pushed his way into the home office, then leaped onto the futon with us. Louie took the dreadlocked dog into his arms and started snuggling with him, scratching him behind the ears as Max drooled onto his pajama pants.
“I can’t believe Mom got drunk and passed out on the bathroom floor,” I told Louie, as I began to play with Max’s dreadlocked fur, twirling a few locks in my hand.
“I can't believe the dog ate half the trash, and then had the gall to puke all over the kitchen floor. Stupid dog.” Regardless, Louie started...
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