"Mommy, I have a question."

"What is it, dear?"

"Where … where do boots come from?"

"WHAT?"

"I was playing kickball with Thrompson and he said boots come from other boots. Is that true?"

"This is very grown-up talk, Beremy. I don't know if you're ready for this kind of discussion."

"I am ready, Mom! I wanna know! Tell me! Tell me where boots come from!"

"Well, when a boot and another boot spend some time together, they become very fond of each other. The boots will hug and kiss. And then, when the moment is just right, one boot will cannibalize the other one in a frenzy of hunger and rubber and leather. They'll try screaming, of course, but it's no use."

"Uh -"

"And then the other boot will become remorseful and sad, and take a long, quiet walk to try to clear its head and decide what to tell the police who WILL be searching."

"Wait -"

"So THAT boot will try to fake its own death. It will stay in a cheap hotel for months, waiting for the heat to blow over. When the boot emerges from hiding, it's still not totally sure that it's in the clear. Maybe it takes a job bagging groceries. Keeps a low profile. Stays off all the radars. But the boot never feels totally confident that it's out of the woods. Even as it moves on and creates a new life for itself, the boot is haunted by memories of the past, constantly fearful that somebody will see the truth inside the boot - the horrible, HORRIBLE TRUTH!!"

"..."

"And that is where boots come from."

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