Friday friday.

Did some crap on Friday
Out of order
Wal-Mart for pompoms not available anywhere else
Yogurt city dinner
Taco bell desert
Doctor and allergy shots.

My nigh illegible dry-erase shopping list.

From Last Call, another Scotto.

Below the steps on the left side, behind a bush, Leon had long ago punched a hole in the stucco and scratched some symbols around it; this morning he crouched at the foot of the steps to tie his shoe, and he took a package from his coat pocket and leaned forward and pitched it into the hole.

“Another thing that might hurt you, Daddy?” Scott asked in a whisper. The boy was peering over his shoulder at the crude rayed suns and stick figures that grooved the stucco and flaked the green paint.

Leon stood up. He stared down at his son, wondering why he had ever confided this to the boy. Not that it mattered now.

“Right, Scotto,” he said. “And what is it?”

“Our secret.”

“Right again. You hungry?”

“As a bedbug.” This had somehow become one of their bits of standard dialogue.

“Let’s go.”