"All those who try to unveil the mysteries always have tragic lives. At the end they are always punished." -- Anais Nin

Not saying a word since seeing the body of Victor Zenkova, Azzie Parker continues to walk hand-in-hand with Mr. Grimm. Today, the walk doesn't just seem like hours. Hours actually pass as the pair stroll through the park in silence, stopping at the gates of the cemetery. Azzie places her small hand upon the black wrought-iron that keeps the world from disturbing the dead. There are so many stories, so many legends, so many voices that call from the Parish cemetery. It would take a person a lifetime to tell every story worth hearing. 

A sudden beam of sunshine falls over the Parish. Azzie gives the small sliver of sun a bright smile. She is usually the only one awake to notice the small strands of light that part the clouds each day, always at dawn and twilight, when such things are hardly noticeable. Today, one was bold enough to light up the afternoon sky. Azzie's head tilts up to the sky, almost in admiration. That one ray of sunshine was bold enough to defy all the rules of the grey clouds. 

Within the silent beauty, the echoes of gunfire shake the small slice of world that is Aubrey Parish to the core. When the shots ring out, Azzie tightens her arms against both the gate and Mr. Grimm's arm. It isn't a gesture of fear so much as one of protectiveness.

"The River Of Souls does not want him." Azzie's voice is sad and plaintive as she speaks to the mute Mr. Grimm, who does not seem to have any feelings on the matter. "It must be very lonely, being so unwanted."

Azzie is silent for a moment, thinking quietly and also waiting to see if the aftershocks of gunfire have drifted away. "Sometimes, Mr. Grimm, people make important mistakes. The biggest mistake of all is thinking that things are what they seem to be."

The redheaded girl reaches down to pick a dandelion that is little but an ephemeral sort of fuzz and collection of seeds. "Once these are missing their yellow, they are lucky. Did you know that, Mr. Grimm? You get to make a wish. On the count of three! One--two---"

Before Azzie can announce "three", the fuzz and dandelion seeds scatter everywhere, a few even landing in Mr.Grimm's hair. Azzie is an instrumental part of making sure dandelion season in Aubrey Parish is booming ten months out of every year. She just laughs, watching as the seeds and her unspoken wish go flying through the air.

Her hand still on the gate, she says simply, "There has been a lot of trouble today because of you and you're not even here." She isn't speaking to the old man beside her, but Azzie's voice has an almost chastising note to it. It sounds as if she is lecturing a small child for misbehaving.

Turning her head to Mr. Grimm, she lets go of the gate, and giggles as if she heard a funny joke. Suddenly, she is excited about something and ready to keep walking. "It's time for your Smoothie! What kind do you want today? I know you like Smoothie days. I was not very hungry earlier but now it's time for a sandwich. "

With that, she heads toward home, which also happens to be the way to the library and to the little store that makes the best Smoothies in the Parish.

For as long as most of the residents could remember being part of Aubrey Parish, they would remember the existence of Peaches and Herbs. Appropriately owned by a woman named Peaches, it always took the younger residents a very long time to learn the name of the restaurant was a play on words. Decades before many were even born, the United States had been introduced to the popular singing duo, Peaches and Herb. The restaurant had absolutely nothing to do with the singing group. Peaches was just a witty lady who wasn't completely a lady. The sort of herbs that interested her were not middle-aged men, but the kind that made the gloomy and rainy days of Aubrey Parish a little less monotonous.

Peaches and Herbs had started as a bakery and ended up a sub shop. Originally intended as an ill-concealed front that sold delicious peach pie, pastries, and smoothies, Peaches hadn't been very ambitious in her business plan. There were baked goods with pot and baked goods without pot. For customers who knew the right way to ask when the cops weren't in the shop, there were just bags of pot and rolling papers. Life was simple for Peaches. Aubrey Parish was the one place outside of New Orleans that let Peaches just be herself, even if some of the more naive residents didn't understand what that was.

Peaches was a flamboyant woman, always had been. Though style trends would come and go, Peaches had a gift for pulling off the most dramatic of outfits together with brightly pigmented eyeshadow and a large pouf of hair that was whatever colour struck her fancy. Lately, it was a light purple with pink highlights. The woman had caramel skin and high cheekbones that allowed her to pull off Aubrey Parish's own version of haute couture.

On top of it all, she had a tremendous bosom that Nature wasn't generous enough to give out, at least not as perfectly as a plastic surgeon had done. Nearly six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and with a husky, seductive voice that was especially for all the men of the Parish, Peaches had the physique of a forty year-old housewife in a body that was past sixty. Some women aged gracefully. Others never left the house without false eyelashes and sparkly heels. She had the glitz and glamour that belonged in New Orleans, Las Vegas, even the nearby casinos and lounges of Biloxi. Still, Peaches had been happy in the Parish. Whatever life there was or wasn't, it was enough for her. A few still snickered and gave her the evil eye, but she'd gotten past the part of her life that was for pleasing other people. 

Those who'd called the Parish home long enough would inevitably remember the story of how Peaches & Herbs became one of the oldest sub shops in Louisiana.

One day, Peaches decided to make a Northeastern-inspired sandwich for lunch. The influx of visitors from Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and New Jersey had given Southern Louisiana an earful of entertaining accents and an introduction to a whole world of food. To most, the recipes were honestly strange. Who'd make steak and peppers only to shred everything and dump cheap melted cheese from a generic yellow box on it? On top of it, the bread had to be a long tubular shape. It was impossible to look at the base of a sub without considering it the king of edible phallic symbols.

There was no doubt in her mind this was no accident when she learned they all arrived in two sizes: a foot-long, and a six-foot long variety.

Peaches was always the curious one, and that's why one day, she tried her hand at making a classic Philly cheese steak. The dreadful orange cheese aside, it was kind of an oversized and bland version of a Po' Boy. Peaches determined it wasn't half bad, and added some hot sauce and pickles. All food in the state of Louisiana could be improved with hot sauce and pickles.

A homesick patron who had stumbled upon Peaches & Herbs mistook the place for a deli and ordered a cheese steak. When he scanned the menu, he asked, "You guys got any smoothies?", pointing to the blender sitting on the back counter.

This earned a look from beneath Peaches' extraordinary lashes. "Darling, you're a sweet lookin' one, but I'm afraid you're gonna have to tell me what the fuck a smoothie is. Then I'll tell you if I'm the kind of girl who'll do it. I am a lady."

No one ever knew if that man got more services far off-menu that day, but Peaches was given some life-changing advice. Her encounter with that man passing through would launch a steadily successful business. In retrospect, it wasn't rocket science. In a place where the temperature rarely dipped below 80 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity was a constant 90%, frozen drinks from a blender made a hell of a lot of money.

Peaches still supplied the herbs, but she didn't bother much with the pastries anymore, except the trademark peach pie and cobbler. Instead, she invested in various ice creams, juices, and a stash of other stuff that brightened up the Parish on a regular basis. Everyone who was a local knew that asking for the smoothie "with peaches" would come with a pretty large dose of herbs. One of those sorts naturally gifted with the ability to read others well, she could tell just by looking at people who needed a shot of espresso and who just needed a shot.

The tourist disappeared from the Parish, but he changed the course of culinary trends for decades to come. Peaches and Herbs became the place for subs & smoothies. No one ever really knew what bizarre ingredients would be included in their meal, but there were few complaints. Something about eating at Peaches and Herbs made people want to eat more. All in all, it was a highly profitable business model that depended solely on the supply of ice, giant phallus-shaped loaves of bread, and marijuana.

Now past sixty, Peaches was still as tireless and creative as always. She also didn't have to worry about the cops. They suddenly became her best customers, though she wisely stuck to more traditional recipes unless a few extra bills passed under the counter told her otherwise. Peaches knew enough about the Parish to know who was up for a good time and who'd be too busy repenting to enjoy the deliciousness of gluttony.

Azzie Parker had been coming into Peaches and Herbs since she was a little bitty thing. All grown up, the girl had a lot on her plate for someone still young and vibrant. Peaches felt a little sorry for Azzie, who should have been out dating and dancing and watching movies with friends in her free time. Instead, she looked after two broken souls day in and day out.

One day, Peaches took a look at Mr. Grimm's eye, grey and cloudy with the film of time, and inspiration hit. "How about I add a little something extra that helps him see a little better, honey? I'm bettin' the poor old guy's got glaucoma cloudin' the world for him." Peaches was delicate with Azzie. She knew, like most did, that the girl came from a long line of addicts and troublemakers. The apple fell far from the tree, though, with Azzie.

"No, no alcohol, thank you. We don't let alcohol in the house anymore." From anyone else, it might have sounded prim and proper. From the petite redhead, it was just a little sad.

"You sweet thing! I'm not talkin' about alcohol, though some like that. You're smart to stay away from it like you do, if you ask me." The woman flashes a grin, and fluffing her giant purplish hair, lowers her voice. "I'm talkin' about Miss Mary Jane, sugar. Some states are using her now for helpin' those like Mr. Grimm who can't see and move so easily. For people like you and me, too, people who need some extra help being able to relax. She's a plant and not one anyone gets addicted to." Peaches actually cared enough to do some research before helping half the Parish with their relaxation needs.

Azzie thought a minute, before relenting. "Well, if it's like medicine that helps him feel better and it's a plant that doesn't hurt people, we could give it a try."

One hour later, the change of expression on the weathered old face was clear, though he didn't say a word. Mr. Grimm loved his smoothie.

That was five years ago, and ever since, Azzie and Mr. Grimm stopped in to visit Peaches and Herbs for smoothies three times a week, sometimes four. The empathetic old drag queen never tried to sell Azzie a stash for her use at home, though she knew someday someone would. Peaches understood what Azzie's home had always been like, even before hearing the details from the rumour mill.

Some things didn't change much from generation to generation. Peaches had come from a small town in Alabama, leaving behind a dilapidated house full of empty bottles and dirty ashtrays to start a life in Aubrey Parish. There were a lot of sad stories in Aubrey Parish, but Peaches' own rough start in life had given her a soft spot for Azzie.

Peaches had been relieved when Azzie started showing up with the chef from Mudbugs some days. He looked like a good-hearted man close to Azzie's age. He treated her like a lady, and made her laugh enough to remind her she wasn't yet an old lady.

One day, the young chef stopped visiting. When Peaches asked Azzie what happened, the girl's face fell. "He didn't care about Mr. Grimm. Anyone who doesn't love Mr. Grimm doesn't really love me."

Tears lurked between blue eyeshadow and and false eyelashes, threatening to wreak havoc on both. No one was more disappointed in the failure of young love than Peaches.

Most people came to Aubrey Parish with a skill, a trade, or a business to bring to the community. It wasn't a white-collar, corporate kind of place, but there was honest work for dedicated people wanting to build a life. Dino Dinelli Kr. hadn't ever done an honest day's work in his life, though he was dedicated and loyal, usually to the wrong people. In a world of tough men and sharp-edged women, he felt the pressure early on to be one of them. He wasn't the type who'd ever been brilliant in school or able to concentrate long enough to figure out what he was good at. 

When Dino Dinelli Sr. was arrested running through a Brooklyn alleyway carrying two guns and a few thousand in cash in his pocket, his son dropped out of school. It was more important to take care of his mother and three sisters than to get a piece of paper saying he knew algebra and biology. The only math he needed to figure out was how much to charge the people he collected from, and the usefulness of biology extended only to making sure there wasn't going to be any life-changing baby mama drama in his life.

At some point, he was going to leave home before he ended up like his Pops, doing fifteen years with good behaviour for manslaughter. It was a dream he knew couldn't come true. He had sealed his fate the day he delivered his first package to a fabric store in the Fashion District and traveled home with half a million in a briefcase.

What Dino lacked in size, he made up for in a fearlessness, bravado, and kind of intelligence known as "street smarts". Except for the last, most of Dino's personality was a lie. He was a warm, sensitive boy who loved his family and just wanted to be a part of things. He wanted it so much, he grew into a man who'd followed in his old man's footsteps. It didn't take any threats or knock-down, drag-out fights at the Dinelli household to get Dino to start taking on errands he felt bad about at the beginning. The young man, despite the attitude and cauldron of rage at just about everything in the world, wasn't cut out for a world where "business" was taking someone's loved ones away from them or making the family business disappear. At the same time, that was his family's business and it was expected a man's oldest son would carry his legacy. Dino was a disappointment, a boy who was soft and weak and not close to being a man, despite reaching his seventeenth birthday. He hated his father for saying that and loved him at the the same time.

Dino finally found his niche. He could travel faster on a bicycle without getting run over than anyone he knew, he could jump fences, even scale brick walls if they were an obstacle. He was smart enough to boost anything from anywhere without getting caught, taking mental notes on cameras and alarm systems throughout the five boroughs. All he had to do was deliver things and messages from point A to point B. It was an easy gig. Unlike his father, he didn't need to hold up a bodega to get it done. Unlike every movie he'd ever seen, no one wanted him to smash anyone's kneecaps. Dino was an intelligent, fast, talented messenger. If he got himself into any trouble, he was always crafty enough to diffuse the situation.

By the time he turned 25, he was no longer naive and instead, too smart for his own good. A little bit of arrogance, a little bit of bravado, and the swagger and greed started to set in. As years passed, he gained more respect and in turn, more ambition. That never led anywhere good in his world, although for Dino, it could have been much worse. There was always a price to pay for every mistake.

Instead of prison or a body bag, Dino was lucky enough to end up in a town he'd heard about that wasn't even on the map. People talked about the small Parish, which Dino would later learn was a county and not a town, though the population of the entire thing was lower than that of his neighbourhood in Brooklyn.  Aubrey Parish was a thing of legends and ghost stories, literally. People gossiped about a mysterious old town that was full of ghosts, vampire and werewolves, witches and zombies, anything that you'd see on TV that everyone knew wasn't real.

The stories about Aubrey Parish intrigued Dino, the way it supposedly appeared out of nowhere as soon as there was a place called Louisiana. People came in to the town, but it was said they never left. Shipwrecks and plane crashes in the nearby waters simply evaporated. The lightning bugs that blinked freely on summer nights in Brooklyn were really fairies with names in Aubrey Parish. Dino, who'd never been out of New York, told himself one day he'd take the road trip. He'd be the first person to go, see if it was creepy, and leave just as easily.

Aubrey Parish wasn't ever really part of the plan. Dino had to get out of town fast, deciding on a new home in the middle of the night. He remembered the creepy story and the pipe dream it inspired when he was younger. It was the only place he could think to go now, the place rumour said would help anyone disappear. Fucking Louisiana, Dino thought on the 27 hour bus ride to the dusty road that would take him to the Parish's "Welcome" sign. Dino made 17 hours of the trip on the bus, trying to be as inconspicuous and spend as little money as possible. Sitting still for that long wasn't his thing, and he would need to come and go from the Parish. No way he'd just disappear and die in a nothing town that wasn't even on the map, even if that was the whole fucking point, Dino mused.

While the Greyhound bus was loading everyone's luggage somewhere in one of the Carolinas, Dino was hot-wiring the bus driver's car and tossing his backpack in the back seat. It was good enough to work and yet shitty enough that it was more of a hassle to have the cops look for it than to get the insurance money.

It took all of five minutes to commit another felony. Dino looked over his shoulder the whole trip to Southern Louisiana. There was a sense of relief and loathing that mixed together when he parked his car in the patch of grass and dirt that had become a makeshift parking lot for the Parish. He'd never had to worry about driving, born and raised in New York City. Here, he wouldn't have to worry about it too often either. The adrenaline left his veins as he walked past the cheerfully efficient Creole man who welcomed everyone to the Parish. It was replaced with a sense of pointlessness as he wondered what to do next.

With a police force of less than ten men and women for the entire Parish, unless you caused a lot of trouble in Aubrey Parish, life was largely live and let live. Whoever your paperwork said you were, that's who you were. There was a suspicious lack of questions and checking out details that most cops would catch during a routine traffic stop. Dino wondered if the local Sheriff was just some sort of fucking idiot, or they really didn't care.

The young man shook a little inside every time someone asked for his ID, talking incessantly to distract them from looking too hard. After all, Dino Dinelli hadn't always been Dino. Dino was a king of his own world, born in a stolen sedan that stopped at a bait and tackle shop. There, they changed everything about his New York license except the fact it was from New York.

Being a 25 year-old Brooklyn native was the only link to the past Dino would carry. The city was a part of him, a part he'd let go only when he died, and not even then. The apple on his arm. would always be a reminder of where he came from, even if he didn't know where he was going.

Dino is more than a little irritated when he shows up at the tiny little restaurant. No one had been at breakfast that morning: not the military guy, the pale lady with the jewelry, the tattooed dude in desperate need of a shave, the bouncy blonde who never shut up, or the guy in the room at the end of the third floor hall who might have been a corpse. He never came out to socialise and knocks on the door went unanswered. In general, the hotel was a weird kind of place, but that hallway in itself was another level of horror movie material. One day, Dino promised himself, he'd jimmy that door open and see what the fuck was going down in that room. 

Dino is a thin, energetic type no one would take for any sort of physical threat, though his arms tell a different story. He's spent some time at a gym or at the very least, near a punching bag. His build suggests he's more of a boxer than a street thug. Like almost everyone in Aubrey Parish, he sports tattoos, though all were done well before his arrival.

It's an unusual collection of art that Dino has on display: a red apple, the name "Ariana" with a heart behind the "i", and a small bird of some sort. With black hair and a face that looks like even when he's 40, he won't be capable of growing facial hair, Dino is every New York Mafia street kid cliche rolled into one being. The only giveaway is Dino's eyes, a hazel-brown that carry warmth, youth, and vitality. One look into Dino's eyes shows he's not a cold person. Instead, he's the kind of tough New Yorker that is lonely because no one came to breakfast and he doesn't like to eat by himself.

A week in, and Dino is already homesick. His heart gave an unwelcome lurch on the unusually quiet morning when he realised none of his new adopted Aubrey Parish family remembered to eat breakfast with him. When he said he'd see everyone at breakfast, he meant it. He hasn't had a meal alone more than a handful of times in twenty-five years. Even on the road, there was always a small place to stop and the small place would always have greasy food and amiable people.

He hides the pain behind his trademark disposition as he walks into Peaches and Herbs. "Yo!" He calls out to Peaches with a wave. "I heard this place is the fuckin' shit if you want a hoagie like they make 'em back home. Gimme the biggest fuckin' Italian you got, and don't ruin it with any of that fuckin' mayo. I hate fuckin' mayo. The fucker who invented that shit got rich for being out of his fuckin' mind." Dino throws a few crumpled bills on the counter. Gonna have to find some fuckin' easy way to get some cash soon, he muses to himself.

Peaches gives Dino the once-over, her honey-dripped voice the flirtatious banter it always is with the cute young men who came through her store. For being over sixty, she is still an attractive lady who knows how to use makeup and clothes to look twenty years younger. "Sweetheart, I ain't one to turn away a good-looking man like you. But I seriously think you need to learn a new word of the day. "Fuck" only makes the world happy as a verb."

Surprisingly, Dino has no immediate retort. He is thrown by the old lady flirting with him. People didn't usually flirt with Dino, but when they did, they weren't his Grandma's age. Dino just laughs, a short bark before he pushes his way into the booth. He needs someone to keep him company while he ate lunch, even if it was someone's sassy Southern Grandma. He watches Peaches make the hoagie he ordered, not yet accustomed to a world where people made small talk and bantered with strangers.

As fate would have it, the moment Dino was getting situated in the sub shop was the same moment that Azzie and Mr. Grimm would stroll through the door, the pleasant chime announcing their arrival before Azzie did. "Good afternoon, Peaches. I hope it's a happy day in here today!" The upbeat and energetic voice sounds louder inside the almost empty shop.

Dino catches sight of the pair before Peaches does. For a few seconds,he just stares, but Dino can't help himself. Inside thoughts always become outside thoughts. "Fuck. He's even fuckin' older than she is. This one of those places where people live for-fuckin'-ever?"

Peaches stops what she is doing just to turn around and shoot a look at the young man with the limited vocabulary. Azzie is already glaring at him with steely eyes that are as black as night. Dino can't remember ever seeing eyes like that before. "I think you are a very rude person. You need to apologise." She pulls Mr. Grimm closer to her in a protective way.

With a chuckle, Peaches goes back to finishing the construction of the sub. "Honey, you want a smoothie with your sub, you'd best apologise to the little lady."

Dino shakes his head. "Fuck no, I don't need to fuckin' apologise for asking a legitimate question. Maybe you owe me the fuckin' apology for calling me rude. I met plenty of people here so far, and no one called me fuckin' rude." Dino pulls out his cell and turns, blatantly ignoring Azzie. "Uptight bitch," he mutters to himself while sending a text.

There are seconds, and then there are seconds that feel like hours. The few seconds following Dino's outburst were the latter. It isn't words that break the silence but the sound of Dino's cell phone clattering to the ground as a plastic water bottle collides with the top of his head. He isn't sure which to worry about first, so he rubs his forehead in confusion. "Fuck. Ow!"

By the time Dino's head swivels to see Azzie standing in the next booth with Mr. Grimm, one hand is on her hip and her face is as red as her copper-coloured hair. "I'm sorry. That was extremely rude of me and so I apologise. That's what people are supposed to say." Without another word, Azzie slides into the booth and helps Mr. Grimm next to her. He doesn't speak but anyone can see Mr. Grimm's clouded eyes are laughing.

Dino leans down to pick up his phone, checking it for damage. In the span of minutes, the redhead had insulted him, hit him with a water bottle, and made him drop his phone. His jaw is stuck in a rather open-mouthed expression.

Before Dino is able to reply, the large sub appears before him, accompanied by the imposing figure of Peaches, holding a large cup above her more-than-ample bosom. "Thank you," he says pointedly to Peaches, not amending the statement with any four-letter words.

"And?" Peaches taps her heel impatiently, switching the smoothie to her other hand.

"And I'm sorry she thought I was bein' fu-- bein' rude to her and her friend. I'm not. " Dino's jaw shifts as Peaches sits the smoothie down in front of him. It wasn't really an apology, but it was as good as it got from Dino.

"There, that wasn't hard, was it? This is on the house, cutie." Peaches clicks her heels and her tongue as she walks behind the counter. "'She' is Azzie Parker, the young lady who is going to pick up that water bottle before leavin' this establishment today. And that's her companion, Mr. Grimm. Mr. Grimm is 96, which is a good number of years. I'll forgive you for thinkin' I'm nearly that old. What's your name, sweetheart?" 

"It's Dino. Dino Dinelli."  He didn't know what else to say , so he takes a sip of his smoothie. "She-- Azzie-- hit me in the head and almost broke my phone." Dino is very consciously aware of sounding about twelve.

Peaches does her best to hide the giggle that builds up at the absurdity of the situation. "Azzie? You got somethin' to say about that, darlin'?"

Azzie glares at Dino. "I'd like a veggie sub and a meatball kind to go, and three chocolate smoothies." 

Peaches does laugh as Azzie responds by placing her order and Dino takes a huge bite of his sub. "That's not what I meant. You got somethin' to say to that young man over there?" 

Azzie sighs dramatically. Her face is stubborn and petulant, but Dino can't help but notice she's a cute little thing. He wonders who the companion is, and why she needs one. Maybe he's the one who needs one. Dino just can't tell. "I'm sorry I hit you in the head and almost broke your phone. But I didn't break your phone and you're going to get hit a lot if that's how you speak to ladies and elderly gentlemen."

Azzie is only slightly less talented at apologising than Dino.

Peaches smirks and shakes her head, setting about making Azzie's order. Dino eats his food  in silence, revoking his wish to have someone to eat with because he is lonely. He looks up every so often to glare at Azzie, who is stubbornly glaring back. The room is deathly silent until Azzie blurts out, to no one in particular, "Did you hear how the guy from the Red Question got murdered last night?"

Dino almost drops his hoagie on the plate, wiping his mouth before speaking. "People get murdered here? And what's a Red Question?"

Fifteen minutes later, Azzie and Mr. Grimm are sitting across from Dino, now in the same booth. She eventually forgets to glare as she told the whole sordid story about the Red Question and its owner. It was an interesting tale and good sandwich, so Dino forgets to glare back.

No one in the room except Mr. Grimm noticed Peaches with a smile on her face as she took an unusually long time to make Azzie's food that day. The Smoothies arrived quickly, but the sandwiches must have been a more difficult order.

He notices, but he doesn't mind. The story was like an episode of Law & Order and the new visitor was like a character from it. No matter how much macho bullshit he was tossing out there, the visitor was still a kid. The kid sees Peaches is old, at least in his eyes, but didn't know enough to notice that she wasn't entirely a she.

This made Mr. Grimm's good eye twinkle. Young people always think they know more than they do. Azzie, Damon, Keegan, and now the new one. They all make Mr. Grimm smile wistfully inside for the days when he knew less about life than he did now. For them, life was filled with surprises. At 96, little surprises Mr. Grimm anymore. That's why he needed Law & Order to make the days more interesting.

On top of everything, that day, the Smoothie tastes a little bit like bacon.

Mr. Grimm's cloudy eyes look content as Azzie held his Smoothie so he could manage the large red straw with his twisted mouth. Meals are rarely a pleasant time because it is so difficult for Mr. Grimm to master the art of eating. They often end up with the girl running off to another room with tears of frustration. He never means to make her cry. He is just too old for a lot of things and that isn't easy for anyone.

Smoothies were easy, though. Every other day, the tiring walk around the Parish was worth it. Mr. Grimm knows the order of a third Smoothie and a sub that had meat meant they would have to go to the library after stopping to see Peaches. Today, he didn't mind as much. 

Smoothie days were the best days.