“Down in the kitchen, I open the refrigerator. There is nothing there but the prize steer of the county fair, rearranged in neat and mysterious packages. Daily, the cook pushes her hand into the cold. The result in uncertain. A gristly Ouija. It could be pot roast or brisket, eye of the round or sirloin tip. The steer has invaded their lives. He is everywhere. There is no room for the sisters' diet-cola or for their underwear on sizzling mornings. They have been eating him for weeks.”

“I'm a whore!"Miki hit the brakes...her hands.. gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Sara. "You're not wearing any underwear, are you?"Sara let out a strangled squeal...”

“But Virginia, bacon is breafast. And nothing sets my nostrils twitching like bacon in the morning. Little pigs parading up and down with their curly cork screw tails... Bacon sizzling away on a iron frying pan. Baste it, roast it, toast it, nibble it, chew it, bite right through it, wobble it, gobble it, wrap it round a couple of chickens and am I ravenous!”

“You got anything more to eat?" He walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a cube of butter. Before I could stop him he took a bite. He worked the butter around inn his mouth, then swallowed. "Bit odd," he said, setting the rest of the cube onto the counter.”

“She opens her eyes slowly. It takes her a moment to adjust to the bright kitchen light, shining in her eyes. "Can we rearrange the furniture this weekend?" she asks sleepily. "So when I sleep out here, you don't shine all of Satan's fiery hell lights in my eyes first thing in the morning?”

“Mallory dropped her head to the steering wheel. "Look, I'm mad at you, okay? This isn't about me. I know my painful memories are relative. My life is good. I'm lucky. This isn't about how poor little Mallory has had it so hard. I'm not falling apart or anything."He stroked a hand down her back. "Of course you're not. You're just holding the steering wheel up with your head for a minute, that's all.”