from Marisa Silver's Mary Coin:
When Miller was six, he had taken to carrying a rucksack on his back all day long, even during school hours when he was sitting at his desk. And what was in the pack? Rocks. Certain rocks he had found and imbued with particular personalities or meanings. Happy rocks. Sad rocks. Angry rocks. Rocks for killing bad guys. If the exact rocks were not there when he looked in his pack each morning—if Philip had stolen one, or if Mrs. Wilson had unloaded the pack to shake out the dirt and neglected to replace them—Miller would burst into tears and refuse to go to school. As Vera drove, she thought of her boy with that bag of rocks bouncing on his back as he played a game of stickball and she sat forward in her seat as if this would get her to him faster.
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