"Always! Watch what you say about always. Go ahead, Moll, tell 'im the year."
  "It's-now let me see, 1953. Or 1941. Let me think."
  "She wouldn't know 1941 from her ass!" growled Chronic as he took a hit from what looked like a Philly Blunt. "For my asthma….She hasn't known what year it was till I took her for a little spin couple years back. It's like someone dropped acid in her pain medication. Woman's batty. Not such a bad lay, as you used to know. Not so bad. I'm told. Ahem." He glared at the old woman, who Barry now saw, within her sagging jowl, had a soft chin-line, and sunken eyes with donut frosting still on her lips.