“I don’t belong here.” This is what I say as Jack pours ketchup on his fries. He gives me a look and picks up his beer. “I can’t get out,” I say. “Really, I can’t . I don’t know how.”
Jack is not a handsome guy. He’s about my age, 50 or so, but more wrinkled. Creases abound on his round face, becoming deeper when he concentrates or when he is annoyed. He is annoyed now.
Karen Lee Kleis 