Chapter Three
The Shoe Incident
It was a Tuesday, which Bobo had decided meant nothing. The left brogue — the good ones, the ones for weddings — was already in three pieces by the time anyone noticed the silence, and silence, in a house with Bobo, was never innocent.
He did not run when he was caught. He sat. He looked up with the particular expression of a creature who has thought the matter through and concluded that, on balance, the shoe had it coming. And somehow — this was the trouble with him — you laughed before you could help it.
Set from four text messages and one voice note, October.
