As I expected, a pair of black suede boots, identical to the ones I had to throw away, lay nestled in the tissue paper. I check the size automatically. Eight. They’re going to fit perfectly. I put the lid back on and turn to the note. Hey, di Angelo— You can’t be a warrior without the proper armor. —S P.S. The ticket for Wednesday night’s game is under “Princess Leia.” P.P.S. We are friends.
