Salem was halfway through explaining why cereal should legally be considered soup when the world decided to interrupt him.
Again.
He had one foot propped up on the coffee table, the other dangling off the couch like he was in a courtroom defending the most important case of his life. A nearly-empty bowl of cornflakes sat on his lap, the milk turning into that slightly suspicious thin film that always made him think of crime scenes.
“Think about it,” he said, gesturing with his spoon like a lawyer pointing to Exhibit A. “Bowl, liquid, chunks floating… that’s soup. Therefore, breakfast soup is—”
BOOM.
The sound came from inside the apartment.
Not outside. Not the hallway. Not from the neighbors arguing about whose turn it was to clean the cat’s litter box (Salem still didn’t know who o
