In her living room, Val sat back in her recliner, a mixed drink in hand. She was a woman in her late forties, of Korean descent. She wore a purplish-grey knee-length dress with a boat-cut neck and dark grey stockings. She said, “I’m not sure what I hate more,” and then paused there to take a sip of her drink, “that I hate my body, or that I hate the fact that society has warped me so much that I hate my body. What do you think, Jo?” Her best friend, Josephine, a white woman of the same age with auburn hair in a pony tail, said, “I think somebody needs another splash of bourbon in her diet cola,” as she poured bourbon into Val’s drink.