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.