On my first day of work in a carpet warehouse I threatened a pock marked man wearing shoulder length grey hair and a bowling shirt with my hammer. My coworkers informed me that I was to be tortured for the infraction, and that the torturer was en route. I stowed away amongst the pool tables, and then gave chase which ended in a toilet. The torturer looked like the pock marked man, except he wore a grey pig’s mask. He slowly sliced my callused Gridle of Venus with a sheet of paper and then gave me a paper cut in my palm. It was the beginning of a rough week.
My brother was Rick Van Brunt’s illegitimate son, and I pondered this surprising truth while on the roof of a cavernous car garage. My father knew the truth all along, and raised my brother without hesitation, yet I wondered about the rumor’s accuracy as it thoroughly betrayed my mother’s personality. From the rooftop was a view of my brother driving a bulldozer that my mother bought for him with Rick Van Brunt’s child support money. Rick Van Brunt watched from the yard as my brother careened through the sandy lot, and then presented him with moon bounce boots. I was jealous and my brother was thankless.