He turned a light on to see in the dark. There was garbage bags and debris all over the floor. A mud trail from dirty shoes; she always asked to take them off before entering the house.

In the corner there were stacks of clothes marked, Salvation Army. These were clothes that no longer fit him; too small. There were jeans and shirts in the piles. An old tee-shirt that said Generals on it in red. It was from his high school days long ago. He handed it down to his son, who, just wanted to get rid of it. The boy threw away everything the father had given him.

Another light was turned on. This one in the spare bedroom. He opened the door.There was graffiti on the wall. Blue words spray painted on cream white. They were curse words. Words often said around the house. The Lord’s name taken in vain. Pictures of stick figures being stabbed. Words coming from their mouths; ouch and hahaha.

The old man took it all in. He didn’t see the purpose for it. Just anger. Madness. He always knew there was a mean streak in that boy. He tried to raise him right, but, the kid never listened. He’d stay in his room all day. Blasting music. Some kind of rap songs. That’s what he listened to.

The father shut the door. He never opened it again.

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