[One of the raccoons invariably leads April to the perpatrator: an eighteen year old boy, covered in soot and blood and grime, sprawled out asleep on her sofa. If the raccoons are in a cleaning mood (who can tell?) they're probably trying to clean the tracks of soot and god-knows-what-else Edgar has smeared across the house. He's sitting in a grimy circle of muck like Pigpen from Peanuts.]
[He sleeps through all of this, wheezing slightly from a time that his nose was broken when he was younger. He's muttering something in his sleep, his leg twitching like a dog's, but otherwise, he's out cold.]
the picture of raccoons ironing mail will stay with me forever
[He sleeps through all of this, wheezing slightly from a time that his nose was broken when he was younger. He's muttering something in his sleep, his leg twitching like a dog's, but otherwise, he's out cold.]