Sam is Graham

Nothing quite facilitates the bifurcation of the human soul like a McDonald’s parking lot. I spent so little time with either of my biological parents that I can really only name two locations in which my younger self could receive any non-punitive instruction. My mother only held parenting hours while she was doing her extensive make-up routine prior to work. Dad despite what I believe was genuine effort was only really truly available on the car ride from McDonalds back to his home. I regret so deeply now how many of those trips I spent with my head rested on the windowsill. Who knows how much Don knew about what was really happening to with me, but everyone in Georgetown knew that a 9-year-old should not be that pale and that their eyes should not have so many bags.