Children liked Eddie. Not teenagers. Teenagers gave him headaches.
Over the years, Eddie figured he'd seen every sort of do-nothing, snarlat-you
teenager there was. But children were different. Children looked
at Eddie—who, with his protruding lower jaw, always seemed to be
grinning, like a dolphin—and they trusted him. They drew in like cold
hands to a fire. They hugged his leg. They played with his keys. Eddie
mostly grunted, never saying much. He figured it was because he didn't
say much that they liked him.