The bike wheel squeaked as he came home from the Piggly-Wiggly. Some ridiculous mechanical mess. A bearing or something. Something needing to be coated in a thick, stinky grease.
He dropped by his Grandma's house. He landed at my Grandma's house. He bedded down.
He was stalking his own Grandma. Imagine his bike in her front yard, with him at the side of the house staring in the kitchen window. Just couldn't get enough of her. Couldn't ever seem to get close enough. Maybe it would help if he just ripped off her skin in one-piece and wore that.
Maybe that would scratch the itch.
What is wrong with him? Did he not rise to the challenge of potty training. Even then when he was an infant: days with Grandma. It all comes full circle. What goes around and all that.
And his mother? PSSH! Don't even ask! He could just walk up to her and push it in!