Blue Mask hated beef stew and hated Birdie for making it. He knew it meant he’d end up having to run out to McDonald’s later. Between that and the Rolex setback, it would put him that much further away from being able to move out. He closed the door softly behind him. He could hear Birdie in the kitchen, singing an old gospel song to herself: “Jesus has done so much for me. I cannot tell it all. I cannot tell it all!” He didn’t want to have to talk to her, answer her questions about what he had been up to, or listen to her latest thoughts on what Bible verse applied to a wayward young man such as himself. He wanted to get his three new best friends—Ben Franklin, Ben Franklin, and Ben Franklin—up with the rest of his stash in the highest cabinet and get on with his day. Birdie stopped singing and called from the kitchen, “That you, baby?” Blue Mask shuffled into the kitchen, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His right was placed protectively over the bills. “Hey, Birdie,”
