Mommy and Daddy watch from inside their silver frame. It’s heavy sterling silver. I’ve been putting this off but I think it’s time. I take the photograph of Mommy and Daddy out carefully. I give it a kiss and then I roll it up and tuck it safely into the depths of the music box. The little ballerina lies broken and dead in her musical coffin.

I learned how to pawn things after Mommy went. Silver spoons; Daddy’s pocket watch, which he got from his daddy. They are all gone, now. There are bare patches, empty places all over the house. The picture frame is the last thing.

The shop is dark on the warm dusty street. The man there gives me the money for the frame. It is much less than I need. But it will have to do. I like places where people don’t ask questions. The bills feel good in my hand. I try not to think of Mommy’s fading face, staring into the dark of the music box.

I walk west until I see a store with clothes in the window, and I go in. There is a lot of stuff here. Rods, flies, bait boxes, rubber boots, guns, bullets, flashlights, portable stoves, tents, water purifiers, yellow pants, green pants, red pants, blue shirts, check shirts, T-shirts, reflective jackets, big shoes, little shoes, brown boots, black boots … I have only taken a quick look. My heart is going too fast. There’s too much. I can’t choose.

The man behind the counter wears a brown check shirt with brown jeans and a green coat thing but without sleeves. He has a beard like me, maybe even looks a little like me, so that’s what gives me the idea.

“Can I buy those clothes?” I point.

“What?”

I am a patient person so I repeat myself.

He says, “The ones I’m wearing? It’s your lucky day, we have all this in stock. I guess I wear them well, huh?”

I don’t like his clothes particularly. But so long as I don’t have to go on a date with my name on my shirt like a kindergartener, fine.

“I’ll take the ones you’re wearing,” I say. “If you just go take them off.”

His neck goes thick and his pupils go small. Mammals all look the same when they’re angry. “Listen, buddy—”

“Kidding,” I say quickly. “Gotcha, buddy. Um, do you sell dresses? Like, maybe in different colors? Maybe blue?”

“We sell outdoor gear,” he says, giving me a long hard look. I have messed up bad, it seems. He fetches clothes from the rails in silence. I don’t wait to try them on; I throw the dollars on the counter and go.