My family lure me into what turns out to be a surprise party for Dad. It’s partly a trick to get me home so Mumsie can slip grocery vouchers and a bottle of vitamins into my pockets as she hugs me. She offloads complaints onto me. My little brother Winston’s chucked out his Lego, his GI Joes, his Meccano, and even his Nintendo ’cause he’s trying to act tough and grown-up, and apparently it’s my job to save his toys from the trash and carefully wipe the goo and dust off Winnie’s toys with the lip of my FUBU hoodie. Winnie, you fuckwit.
I wipe the goo off; I box them up. Dad shows me precisely where I can park them in the garage, then uses it as an excuse to give me a tour of the freakin’ place. He’s proud to show me he’s put up new shelves of recycled oak to store his 1000 issues of Popula
