Walter's litany of the boy's afflictions was near nightmarish in proportion: "He had bad breath, like he'd eaten sour cream from a cat box.
In addition to the Clark's over-the-top childhood recollections, there is humor in the irony of a burned-out detective suddenly realizing her rather unhinged perp might actually be not bad dating material.
Walter is fearless in mining the territory of childhood, and in exploring how our wounds shape the people we become.
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