Watkins pressed his back into the hallway wall, trying not to breathe as his socked feet slid deliberately, inch by inch, over the wooden parquet floor toward the safety of his bedroom.
“Zeddie? Zeddie Little?” the woman’s voice shouted again – this time muffled not just by a fist pounding on one side of the door, but by the dog’s barking frenzy on the other. “We just want a word with you. It’s Inside Edition.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and tensed his shoulders. A vain attempt to buffer the clang of the spoon that dropped from his left hand, flinging a sticky glob of granola up onto the 2001 Summerville Flowertown Festival poster hanging on the opposite wall. He was startled to realize he’d still been gripping the spoon at all. One minute he’d been enjoying his breakfast and listening to records, the next—
also, his instagram is zlittle5.