Chapter 29: Grosso’s Market
Grosso’s used to be a five minute bike ride from Aunt Evie’s, in the summer when time stretched out across the day like a cat sleeping in the sun, and the distance was nothing to a little boy anxious for Gobstoppers and frozen Cokes. But the middle of October in western Pennsylvania is nothing like August—a slight wind blows through me and sends dried leaves scuttling over my shoes, skittering across the street with a sound that reminds me of caught crabs scurrying over the deck of a ship to get away. It’s a cold sound, empty and alone. Around me the houses are silent, the trees foreboding guardians that watch me pass, and there are just enough clouds in the sky to suck any warmth out of the morning sunlight. It looks like rain, actually, the clouds low and bru
