mouth. Of course, I’m his dad. But it was more than that – the salesman pushed Spalding, Rawlings, Wilson, giants. But I had a feeling about Mizuno, always did, from the beginning. Always knew its potential.
Cast it into the fire, the man shouted, flames crackling at his heels. Free your son. Yourself!
Dad’s corner smile crept across his lips, the stove’s bowels roaring and reflecting in his eyes.
I know what to do.
He backed away, disappearing into dark. The man heard the car roar to life, peel out, gravel crunching tires spinning. Soon it was quiet again, just crackling flames and the creak as he closed the stove door.
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