Mom has a job interview and ate too many jelly beans. She feels glum, like a blob or glob of gum, or glue. She wants to get off the street because of the cops. She says the bar sucks too. Tips have dipped with the economy and so have her boobs. Her boob job is on lay away so it will take awhile before she can get those fixed. The kids at school are not alcoholics yet but they will be one day. That’s what mom says. She says when they grow up they’ll probably end up at the bar where she works on the weekend. My best friend Squinny has a father named Scrod and he loves Squiggy and fried calamari. He believes in the right bear arms too. He is not from outer space and he is one of mom’s best clients. I swear. Anyway, I’ve got homework to do. Math. I love the Pythagorean Theorem. I think of mom as A. I am B. And everything we’ve done together is like C-squared.