But Faith's notebook — which I took for her coursework — was lying open on the coffee table. I picked it up out of sheer boredom. Instead of a linguistic treatise, I saw she'd written her self. Her anger at Mom. Her frustration with sisterdom.

It's mortal cold out there.

Coordinate term: peek

Free up my G's locked in the bin Jail house comin' like subs one comes out then one goes in