The lid of the teapot rattled as though terrified. Dad is not the table-banger. No one in the house is. It’s a house of quiet, impatient table-tappers at worst, so Mom’s resilience is just as startling. Like a second startle, the bang and rattle followed by a pedal tone of ominous import previously unnoticed. She would sit back, hands in lap looking, a rock to dad’s crashing waves. “Fuck the teapo...
So it’s this mucky stuff out by the, short cut?, dad calls it the easement, the easement out to the river walk. Yeah out there. They’re not out dealing drugs there, that’s more toward the train tracks. This spots just a little ugly and there’s this mucky stuff. Gacky. So yeah I just go out there and kind of push it around with a stick, at least that’s what I started doing and like, who cares thoug...