Strange story. I'll refrain from projecting too much onto the author, and instead say that his characters' relationship to alcohol is downright alien to me. As

Strange story. I'll refrain from projecting too much onto the author, and instead say that his characters' relationship to alcohol is downright alien to me. As is their relationship to women, who are apparently without exception unpleasant, disapproving control freaks: >your mother—not to mention that wife of yours—would never forgive me if I helped you find the place >So far as Mrs. McHintry is concerned, I work late on Mondays. If she complains about the smell of booze on me, I tell her I had a beer on the way home to wind down > The evening wore on. I had to phone an increasingly exasperated Donna a couple more times > I do recall the frequent appearance of terms like “skunk,” “loaded,” “all on my own,” “lush,” “douchebag” and even a tentative “staying with my mother awhile”—we both recognized this last as an empty threat, because … well, you remember your grandmother, don’t you?