I'm a grown woman, for God's sake. I can leave the house for ten minutes and go for a walk. Can't they understand that?
And then he runs out of the house, barefoot and clad in too-large-for-his-skinny-frame neon green pajamas. Maia and Pookie walk by this house nearly every day; she's never seen the boy before. 4'7" or thereabouts, longish, uneven sandy blonde hair, blotchy caramel-colored skin, those funny see-through braces on his teeth as he stands on the sidewalk smiling and staring.
"I sure like your dog," he says. "I wish we could have a small one like that." Pookie waddles over and licks the boy's toes. He laughs. "Yeah...toes," the boy says as he laughs some more. "We can only have big ones." Just then a black sedan pockmarked with rust pulls up to the curb in front of the boy's house. A man of muscular build dressed in a black t-shirt, black sweatpants, white crew sox, and bright orange sandals gets out from behind the wheel. He carefully balances two to-go cups and two packs of Marlboro Reds and kicks the driver's side door shut with one of his orange feet. "Hey Jim," says the boy to the man. The man nods once as he eyes Maia and her dog. The boy runs back up the walk to open the front door. Over his shoulder the boy calls to Maia. "See you later." Pookie barks as the man enters a shadowy hallway. The boy follows the man inside; his pajamas glow in the dark. The door closes behind them and Maia whistles softly for Pookie to pick up the pace. Maia notices the For Lease sign in the boy's front yard as she and the dog continue on their way. A sharp whiff of sweet autumnal decay is carried on the breeze as maple leaves sway high above Elk Street.
Gary dips a piece of toast into the steaming mug as he looks through the slats of the beige vinyl shades. He's glad Maia is doing something about her weight.
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