He packed his big brown chest with his clothes and little trinkets and his books. Every time Freddy left a place, he got rid of most of what he accumulated, or swapped a new thing in, throwing out something he’d brought with him from the place before. Freddy liked to have twelve of everything that required more than one. Twelve shirts, twelve pairs of underwear, twelve pants, twelve books. Twelve socks. He liked twelve because it felt better than ten and was one shy of unlucky thirteen. Fourteen of anything was too much to have.
