Basically what we have here is a dreamer. Somebody out of touch with reality. When she jumped, she probably thought she'd fly

Lux’s frequent forged excuses from phys. Ed. She always used the same method, faking the rigid t’s and b’s of her mother’s signature and then, to distinguish her own handwriting, penning her signature, Lux Lisbon, below, the two beseeching L’s reaching out for each other over the ditch of the u and barbed-wire x.

My family suffered. My hair turned up in every corner, every drawer, every meal. Even in the rice puddings Tessie made, covering each little bowl with wax paper before putting it away in the fridge--even into these prophylactically secure desserts my hair found its way! Jet black hairs wound themselves around bars of soap. They lay pressed like flower stems between the pages of books. They turned up in eyeglass cases, birthday cards, once--I swear--inside an egg Tessie had just cracked. The next-door neighbor's cat coughed up a hairball one day and the hair was not the cat's.

Detroit's a great music town. If your interaction with it was mainly musical, I'm sure you have a good opinion of the place.

To start with, look at all the books.

our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.

that since Cecilia’s suicide, the Lisbon’s could hardly wait for the night to forget themselves in sleep