Naked and broken, the boy stumbled into a neighbor’s backyard. Silhouetted by the moon, he stood at the rim of a koi pond and urinated, his weight on one leg and his hand on his hip. He dribbled off and continued his escape. “I will never see daddy again.”
*
Summer in the Glenwood Hills development, Allison looks both ways then slides into the sewer. She flips a switch and dozens of lamps light consecutively above the corridors. The water over the floor is frozen and smooth. Allison puts on her pink skates and glides away.
*
Matthew stands on a chair in front of the refrigerator and steals thirty sticks of butter. He sits at the breakfast nook table and removes the wrappers. With a butter knife, he cuts the sticks to varying lengths. He places the now hundred-some butters on end, arranging each one very carefully at random until a cityscape is formed. He hears the garage door open and runs upstairs. The metropolis is left with his parents.
Monday, July 10, 2006
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