Atlas and Jett sit on the sofa like two kids in time out. Stacks of flattened cardboard pile by the door from whatever they spent the morning moving in. They snap to life when I careen past, shooting into the kitchen. Atlas jumps to his feet in those stupid pants that hug his thick thighs. “What happened?” “Nothing!” I say, too high-pitched. “Just hungry. Gonna cock. I mean cock. I mean cook!”
