He blinks up at me. “You’ve got the … the things.” He jabs at his cheeks. “Anton, quick, look. The stripper has the face things.” I share a bewildered look with Sanden. “Ah, dimples?” Sanden asks. “Dimples!” Ezra throws his hands in the air like he’s won the jackpot and staggers into the backyard, leaving the gate open for us to follow.
