Part 1.0 The Overtime Call can be found HERE
Part 1.1 The Family Manager can be found HERE
At the brink of noon, the elder to the previously acquainted son awakens from his slumber. With a strategically planned out itinerary consisting of afternoon college courses and evening table tending at a favored local restaurant, he exercises a seemingly effortless existence. Meandering about in the evidently tranquil ambiance, he still conjures up a way to start his morning with a sundry of anxieties and apprehensions. Bringing to pass a game plan to his day, he is able to settle down into a rhythmic cadence. Awaiting the presentation of the Windows Login Screen, he is abruptly hindered. “Hey Fog, don’t forget to pick Bird up from school and bring him to scouts, thanks rude dawg” he is snappishly reminded through a text message from his Dad. “Shit” he snarls as he springs up from his computer chair searching for his shoes. After realizing he has dawdled away two not-so-studious hours, he proficiently slips on the classic black, worn bottom Converse low-tops and hurriedly runs out of the house. In the intervening time, as he is running out of the garage he hears his older brother calmly utter “you can leave the door bro.” His brother Nick who is standing on the side yard, adjacent to where his father’s Dodge pick-up had departed early that morning, was taking the final drag of the Camel Turkish Gold that lazily drooped out of his mouth. As he went to extinguish the slowly smoldering butt, into the freshly emptied craft brewery beer can that posed on the hood of his car, he gazed leisurely at his younger brother carefully directing his car away from the curb, dispassionately waving as he headed down Meadow Road and out of sight.
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