Huck and I are cuddled up in the big brown chair. His hair is getting long again, all rumpled curls on top. Face a little dirty, because it’s after nine in the morning. Big sweet eyes smiling up at me, waiting for a story.
“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a boy named—”
“ACID FIRE,” he interjects.
Everyone Knows Potatoes Have Eyes, Not Ears
From the Archives: Who’s on Surp?
Rhymes with ‘how’
Overheard: A Bitter Quarrel