Dibs

In Chicago, dibs might be an unwritten rule, but the consequences are clear. You violate the rules; you risk your tires, your windows, your paint job. Mrs. Finelli looks up and down the street, as if she’s searching for witnesses to share her outrage, but there’s no one out tonight. She picks up a chair, and I hold my breath and scratch Samuel’s back like I do when he’s been crying for reasons he can’t express. “Here we go,” I whisper.

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