Leo had spread his arms wide, like a conductor greeting an orchestra. “That’s the point, Jonah. Sanity is the prison. Insanity is the key.” Then he’d leapt—not off the roof, but onto the awning, slid down the gutter, and landed in a pile of used crab traps. He stood up, brushed a piece of seaweed from his lapel, and said, “I’m going to find the truth.”
“It’s a 2019 Honda Civic.”
“There is no ‘where art thou,’” he said. “You’re just here. Or you’re not. And I’m sorry I wasn’t. But I am now.” o 39-brother where art thou
The diner’s fan whirred. Somewhere in the kitchen, a plate shattered. Leo had spread his arms wide, like a