Occasionally my mother would comment that there was a smell like
manure emanating from my father's ears. And sometimes he would
tell her that she was a fucking bitch.
I hate it when I can't get on with a book; they're supposed to be my best friends. Running with Scissors is a memoir by Augusten Burroughs. I picked this copy up at a charity shop in December 2018. I read about a third and stopped once I got to the rape by, though not called it in the book, a paedophile. This book is not quirky. It is not fun. It is highly disturbing.
Run away from it.
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