“A thirteen-year-old sold a guitar because two adults in this house each thought the other one had read the post.”

Part Twenty-Three: The Kitchen Table

We went inside.

And the source of the warm version of this story — the version that went round our town and then went a good deal further than our town — says that we walked into a kitchen with a massive breakfast spread and a beaming girl and a room full of officers.

There was food.

I want to be fair to it.