The problem, she said, is with the me versus us generation. We all turned our heads towards her small framed body sitting on the floor in the living room. She was sprawled out like an easy woman, dressed entirely in black and with a hideous hairdo. She had these awful bangs. With hairspray, the bangs were spaced out far apart in clumps and never moved. And it was immediately apparent that the years of smoking had done a number on her face. The wrinkles congregated underneath her eyes and her ears; her face was hanging on by her stories and her furious love for her husband.
