Falling In Holes

Day One

"Today's menu- chili, string beans, refried beans, Garbanzo beans, green beans, and banana jell-o," a man announced.

Stan stood in line, only to get what looked like a pile of slop dumped on his tray. He grimaced. One day here and he already hated the place.

"Hey, Stanley!" Robot called, waving him over. "Over here! This is where the D Tent sits."

Stan moved to sit down besides Robot.

"Hey, yo, new kid," a kid spoke. Stan looked over at him. "See, you didn't dig today. So uh, you wouldn't mind giving up your bread to somebody who did, now would you?"

The kid reached over and stole the slice of bread from Stan's tray.

"...I would, actually..." Stan said quietly.

"So what'd they get you for?" Another kid asked.

"Stealing a pair of shoes," Stan answered. The table erupted in laughter.

"From the store, or were they still on someone's feet?"

"No no, he just killed the dude first," Zigzag spoke. "Just forgot that little detail, right?"

"They were Clyde Livingston's shoes," Stan said. Kitty looked up at him.

"Sweetfeet?"

"What?!"

"Man, you did not steal no Clyde Livingston's Sweetfeet shoes."

"His world series cleats," Stan said.

"Hold on, hold on," a kid said. "How did you get them? He's like, the fastest guy in the majors, right?"

"The guy hit four triplets in one game."

"Clyde Livingston donated his shoes to this, uh, this homeless shelter," Stan explained.

"Did they have red X's on them?" Kitty asked. The table looked at her in surprise.

"You got Kitty to talk at lunch," one kid gaped.

"Hey, yo, what else can you do, Kitty?" Armpit asked. Kitty remained quiet.

"...yeah," Stan answered. "Yeah, they did."

Kitty looked back down at her lunch.

"Tell us a little bit of your background, Mr. Livingston," the man said. "Besides the fact that it was your donated shoes that were stolen, what other connection might you have with this case?"

"Well, I was an orphan," the athlete began. "I grew up in that home. I-I don't understand what type of person steals from homeless children." He looked at Stan. "You're no fan of mine."

Stan laid awake that night. He couldn't sleep. The person next to him was snoring. Another kid farted loudly.

"It was all because of your no-good dirty-rotten pig-stealing great-great-grandfather!" Grandpa snapped. Stan grinned. "That's who sealed our destiny! Why do you think this pawn shop is a dud? Or why none of your brother's inventions ever work?" Ford grumbled, picking at his food. "Doesn't matter how smart you are. Y-you need luck- something we don't have."

"Well what about your father?" Martha asked. "He wasn't so unlucky. You told me he made a fortune in the stock market."

"Some luck," Grandpa scoffed.

"He lost everything," Filbrick said. "He was robbed by Kissin' Kate Barlow."

"Wait, are you serious?" Ford gaped. "The Kissin' Kate Barlow? Did she kiss him?"