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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories .170 of your business! It's my shoe! I laugh like a madman. I am a madman. I love my mother. Where's your shoe, Larry? Locked forever in river mud, Mother! Along with your crazy pamphlet! And do you now what else has happened? I laugh and laugh, confused right to the linings of my heart, but loving each assault of fear and crazy happiness. Laughing and saying words, I limp all the way down Concord Street. 4 Butch's house is dark. There isn't any light from the kitchen where someone has usually left the fridge open, nor is there any noise coming out of the hole in the corner of the house where Bud smashed into it. In the backyard, there is a steady rage of crickets. I feel my way around the geothermal pit, and when I step on Tiny and he groans, I hear Butch say, "What?" "Hey!" I whisper. "Over here." He's sleeping way out back hidden fa the weeds in a~ little-explored portion of the lot. He's made a camp, in fact, with two milk crates, one of them full of apples, and a bag of bread, and three cans of Van de Camp's Pork and Beans. There are books and papers and a few bags and gizmos spread around. I can tell by the way the weeds are matted that he's been here for a few nights. He shines his flashlight on me. He runs it |