I walk home from school with Daryl.
Backs slouched.
Eyes down.
Tongues silent.
If I can do anything for Daryl, it's to teach him not to be noticed.
I get home.
My father is passed out on the couch. I pull Daryl into our room and lock the door.
Feed Daryl and direct him to his homework.
Stay quiet.
So! Installment number two in this poetry-ish story.
I know, right? Daily updates.