The first installment

Had it not been the slippers, it almost certainly would have been something else.

Even now, as he squatted behind the wooden elephant umbrella stand and candy wrappers that had somehow gathered inside his front door, he smiled at the way things had turned out. Smiled to himself as though this routine of lurking behind the umbrella stand, listening for the footsteps that would leave No. 201 so that he could finally begin his own day, was merely a game he happened to be playing. As though the 54 tardies he had collected since the first Tuesday of March and the discomfort of eating breakfast wedged between a shoe cabinet and the wall were things to be dismissed, even laughed at. As though he were kneeling in dirt and bread crumbs simply because he wanted to.  

In truth, he had been driven to this particular spot behind the umbrella stand by a series of incontrovertible truths. He could not arrive at the supermarket before eight because he could not leave the house until he had heard Mrs. Kendricks, who lived in No. 201, step out into the hallway, water her pea plants, jingle her keys, and lock her door. He could not leave the house until he heard these sounds because he could not chance an encounter with Mrs. Kendricks. And he could not chance an encounter because he could not bring himself to tell her about the slippers. It was all as logical and as inevitable as the progression of a chemical reaction, and he had no choice but to look on.