CHAPTER 7On a Friday, a couple of weeks after my stint at the police station, I cut all my classes, grabbed one of my rarely worn sport coats and tidied myself up so I’d be taken seriously at the Cleveland Institute of Art. Hell or high water, I was hellbent on finding Millie.
The Art Institute, on the east side of Cleveland, was at most a 45-minute drive. Millie could’ve easily commuted, and when I first heard she would be living there in a dorm, I chalked it off to that one word again. Status. Now there was another reason. Me. Her parents had to keep her away from me. I guess living in the same city was too close for comfort: She would’ve had a nice drive taking the Shoreway along Lake Erie, and then Liberty Boulevard, which snaked through a big-ass park leading to the Cleveland Art Mus
