Unwrapping A Christmas While Hosting A Poor White Human Christmas Morning Before The Human Host Dad Leaves For Work
Hand clenches, and fingers rub, break the very thin red and green bow paper pulled and taped neatly around the corners and tucked in near perfect folds and align clear tape. The crinkle of paper tickles joy of sound while the faint poke and deep crush of paper into ball still tearing away from a black box picture of break pads for the Ford Pinto parked on the gravel driveway.
”Got a few Dollar for the lunch?” dad says tapping shoulder. His mint aftershave fume with morning pit sweat still layering in blue Mechanic Wrench work shirt. Host stuck on truth.