Like a Gollum, she thought, or something else similarly nightmarish and exotic.Įven the word itself-punk-suggested all kinds of things she wasn’t familiar with. She didn’t have to think about the punk, who didn’t come from anywhere around here and always looked very tall and mean-mouthed, in the shadows cast by the Ryersons’ porch light. If she hadn’t seen them, she didn’t have to think about drug deals or other things illegal, going on right here in this safe little island of suburbia. And then the second time, when she purposefully set out to watch-she hadn’t seen them then, either. As if he hadn’t come to do anything at all, and after the Ryerson kid gave him some small square of something, and he’d handed over the money, he usually slid away into the shadows as though nothing had happened. He came fairly frequently, and always acted the same way. She could see him over the fence with the Ryerson kid.
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