He couldn’t tell them apart at first. Bennie and Frankie. They looked so alike to Larry. Black hair, brown eyes, dark skin, white teeth like their mother’s, devilish grins. And they were always grinning – wide mouths, open all the time. Talking, laughing, grinning, shouting. Back and forth on their scooters, purposefully in front of Larry’s office. Why not? No one else was using their storage unit as an office. He was a curiosity to these kids. The man in the storage room, with his laptop and his rug and his glass desk. And his coffee cans. The man with tattoos who occasionally swore when he forgot there were kids around.
Larry comes into the storage unit one day and his cans have moved. He notices immediately. The top layer has shifted.
He stands there and stares at the cans, willing hi
