““You’re home,” he says unnecessarily. But I don’t have my keys. I tell him. “Don’t you have a spare under a rock or something?” he asks impatiently. I look around my yard. My mind not able to process. A rock? Batty’s hand on my bicep gets me moving to the front porch. The light is on, so Batty leaves me to start kicking over first the front mat, then rocks in the yard. “It’s shit.” Batty keeps kicking rocks down the front of the house, ignoring me. He seems to be getti...ng madder he goes along. “It’s in the shit,” I call after him. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks. He’s pissed. Why? I point to the center of the yard. “I don’t have a yard. That pile of shit is a hide-a-key.” He stalks over to it in the dark. “I’ve been doing this for ten minutes and you tell me now?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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