Broken glass crunched under Ronald’s shoes as he walked down Downing street. He hurriedly reached down and brushed the off with quick sweeps of his leather-gloved hand. These were Armani, goddamnit. They could not get scratched.
His old street had changed a lot since he had been there. Or maybe he just remembered it differently. The swing set didn’t used to be that decrepit, did it? Ronald shuddered to think of any child playing on something that dangerous, especially not himself.
He had gotten close enough to the building now that he could run his hand across the sign at the front door. THE CANDOR HOUSE FOR BOYS had become TH CAN OR OUSE FO OYS at some point in time. Ronald wished he could have been here to rearrange the letters when they fell off.
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