A few hours later, the sequined jumpsuit was on a hanger out on the fire escape. Gideon aired it out every day and had it dry cleaned once a week. The wig was on its Styrofoam head, where it always looked better, he thought. Pacing around in what little space he had, Gideon had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else after his shower.
“My actions were a bit out of character, I suppose.” He was still wired as the sun began to rise on a new day. “I just reached my boiling point,” he said to Priscilla, “and then I boiled over.”
Morning was night and night was morning to Gideon now, since his shift at the bar was 8:30 P.M. until three in the morning. He was usually in bed by five, but not that day.
“But I got the shoes,” he said proudly. “Well, I will get them. Because of the griev
