I stare at my chicken patty, the limp lettuce, pale tomato sliver, open the small mayonnaise packet, even though I don’t eat mayonnaise. I pour my milk, set the carton on the table, slide aside the red Jell-O. If I don’t look up, I won’t be where I am. Father wears a blue dress shirt, not his own, stares, not speaking, not noticing the shirt is buttoned wrong, brown stain on the front. His hair
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