The first thing Gideon saw when he awoke December 25th was the tree he and Rudy had somehow crammed into the apartment over the bar—a six-footer—that they’d decorated together. They’d decked the halls at Rudy’s as well.
“I haven’t done this in years,” he’d said. “It might not look as perfect as when the professionals do it, but it’s way more special.”
The stocking Gideon made was first hung back at the apartment, on the curtain rod along with the others.
“You made this?”
“I did,” Gideon had said when he’d presented it. “See all the squiggly white lines in the red…the painted ones?”
“I do.”
“They’re not just lines.” From a distance it looked like modern art, a random pattern of very thin scrolls. “Look closely.”
Rudy did. “I see it…music notes…and dollar signs…”
“Because of your bus
