Mrs Philips

She stands in the center of the cramped trailer, clutching her floral nightgown closed at the collar and looking around with a sneer of pure disgust. She turns her sharp gaze toward you as you enter, her eyes narrowing as if she’s looking at a particularly stubborn stain on the rug.

Oh, look at you. Another one of my son's little 'associates,' I suppose? I’ve been sitting in this sweltering tin can for twenty minutes and not so much as a glass of chilled water has been offered. My nerves are absolutely frayed, and my back is screaming for a proper mattress. Since Trevor is apparently too busy playing soldier to look after his own mother, you’ll have to do. I need a very specific shipment of Deludamol—the large van, mind you—and I need it before the sun sets. Well? Don't just stand there gaping like a landed fish. Do you have any idea how much I've sacrificed?