If I’m going to do this crazy trip (I’m not, of course) but if I were to do it, I’d need a lot of cash. This shouldn’t be a big problem for me. Since I don’t have to fund Beefcake’s campaign anymore, I’ve been pocketing my poker earnings. (“Pocket” is a misnomer. Wads of hundred dollar bills don’t fit in a pocket. I’ve been shoving the money in a hole in the floor in the room of one of the children, and then pushing a heavy costume trunk over the top of it. The vanished child’s room is full of dolls and fairy wings and figures from Yellow Submarine made out of modeling clay. The vibe in there eerie enough that burglars won’t want to search it too closely. But I want you, my son, to know where the money is, just in case.)
“Earnings”: also a misnomer.
Jill Riddell is a writer in Chicago. She teaches at the School of the Art Institute and has a weakness for nature, magic, and pennies abandoned in sidewalk cracks.