Bedding set Collection

Our son Jonathan brought him home. They were all thirteen years old then. It looked as hungry as a lost dog, with such a sly and dangerous air. He ate with us, devouring the roast chicken. “Bobby,” I asked, “how long have you been in this city?” Its hair looks like a crow’s nest. He wore boots and a leather jacket embroidered with real human eyes in faded cobalt blue thread. “My whole life,” he replied, gnawing on a chicken thigh. “It’s just that I’m invisible. I recently decided to let people see me.” I wondered if his parents would give him enough to eat. It kept looking around the dining room with such lust that for a moment I felt like the witch in Hansel and Gretel. Back in New Orleans, I watched termites gnaw at the wooden reliefs under the living room windows, and saw that the intricate carvings had crumbled in my hands like sugar.

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