Moe made the trip across the street. He eyed the drapes and the crack still left between, but there was no light inside. The city-provided mailbox –...one nail gone, the other loose – clung feebly to clapboard. Its gold-painted name, F. Thompson, was faded from a decade of neglect. A hard knock might have brought the whole façade crumbling down, but before Moe had balled his fist, a rusty hen in tattered chenille swung open the door. Her face had seen some years – exactly how many was hard to. Amy: Good! A nice king-sized bed just for you and me so we can snuggle under the cover.Me: I’m going to get changed. You should too.Amy: About that…I didn’t pack my nightie because I thought we’d be going home tonight.Me: Oh! I can lend you a shirt if you want?Amy: No!Me: Then you’ll have to sleep in your underwear.Amy: I’m not so sure about this, Daddy.Me: Don’t be shy honey. What are you afraid of?Amy: That you might think I’m weird for being so insecure about this or that you might not like. More

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