FOR THE FIRST HOUR AT THE VICTORIA PARK FRANKIE’S, there’s only one kid in the store with his grandma. She trails behind him, carrying a bucket of tokens and his layers of clothing – a sun visor with monkey ears, a green hoodie. I can’t decipher the language they’re speaking. Filipino, maybe. When they get to the Dance Dance Revolution knock-off, she gamely gets up on the other footpad and the two of them dance battle. She’s maybe sixty-five, tops, and it’s cute the way that she moves, awkward between the steps but graceful too, like she might do social dancing. I wonder if they’re together all the time, if she does child care while the parents work. The kid’s lucky to have someone who loves him so much looking after him.
Greyson, the owner, catches me staring. “They’re here every couple
