I still didn’t get along with my foster families, a kid with lupus will put a strain on any family. Still, I hadn’t understood the consequences until I was kicked out of the system. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and was close to tears when the waitress brought my food. Rose pulled the plate from in front of me and said, ‘Stop blubbering like a child. You made your bed, don’t start complaining that it’s got lumps in it. God gave you a hill to climb, a place where you could stand above the crowd, and all you’ve done is complain that no one will carry you to the top! Climbing hills is what gives you the muscles to conquer mountains, boy! ‘Stand on you own hind legs like the man you’re supposed to be. Hell, you could join the Army tomorrow and they’d take care of you until you shipped out.’ I couldn’t keep the whine out of my voice, ‘No, I can’t. The army won’t take me. My lupus is mild, but I do have photosensitivity. I’ll never be able to work outside. If I can work a scam to. The tables were almost as dirty as was the floor, there were no pillows on the ramshackle chairs and benches, from the stove in the corner came puffs of smoke and too much heat. I had had my share of dubious food and cheap wine, but was not drunk — it would not have been a good idea for a woman on her own to get drunk in such a place. I was tired, but not sleepy. I did not want to think — or rather, there were things I did not want to think about. I had run out of things to read. I tried to ignore the sounds — the snores of those who had gone to sleep on the benches, with their cloaks as blankets if they had them, the heavy breathing and the loud or muted sounds of pleasure or pain from those who occupied benches but slept not, the drunken laughter and the sudden curses from the tables were cards or dice were played, the occasional shouts for more beer or wine — the pub catered to both tastes — and among all those sounds, I dimly heard the voice of the story-teller. I had missed the.
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