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18.1.04

A long time ago, my mother lived in a place where people stole her toothpaste, and asked her boyfriend if they could borrow his shoes in order to look respectable at funerals.

One day, she went downstairs and found a man with a gun in her front room. She felt panic rising up inside her, then thought, if I panic, I will die. If I pretend the gun is not a real gun, perhaps I can think more clearly.

She said something ridiculous, that went something like, "That's a very nice gun you've got there."

He said, "Why don't you take your clothes off."

She said, "No."

He started yelling about how his gun was real and if she didn't do what he said, he was gonna shoot her.

She yelled, "I don't have time for this!" and stormed out the front door.

She went to the house next door, where she contemplated calling the police, but didn't in the end, as she did not want to be alarmist. As it turned out, her original supposition was half-correct. The gun was real, but loaded with blanks.

At one time, her father visited. He was a tall, straight man who drank only milk and had been a naval architect. He had a clockwork brain; dispassionate, logical and unstoppable.

He said something which caused my mother to think, at the same time, 'My god, that's shallow and unthinking,' and, 'My god, that's deep and perspicacious.'

What he said was, "There's nothing wrong with this neighbourhood that money couldn't fix."

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