Days like this I want to drive away. (Katy Perry)

Uncle Rider looked around without stepping in any further. He had left this house and this life behind. Holidays were enough. He didn’t need to see it now. He didn’t want to see how it had been barbarized.

“What’s the damage?”

I shrugged. “It’s bad.”

“Pack a bag,” he sighed.

“That’s it? Pack a bag? That’s what you came to Philadelphia to tell me. You could have said that on the phone.”

He was taken back but he smiled. “Well hello Tommy.”

I furrowed my eyebrows but I considered it a compliment. Nonetheless I continued, “What are we supposed to do? Leave everything? The cars, my boat, my family?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Have I eaten? Have I eaten!” I threw my arms up in the air. “Are you going to take me to Chuckie Cheese?”

He brushed past me into the kitchen and started to make breakfast. I was frustrated but I had no choice but to follow. I pulled a baggie from my pocket and snorted some sunshine into my cloudy day.

He looked at me as if it were an abomination, as if I was the first person to do drugs at this kitchen table so I offered to share.

“How old are you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“How old were you?”

He returned his attention to the sizzling frying pan.

“So what do we do?”

“I imagine they want to stay in jail, at least until we can pay back our Middle Eastern buddies. Do you know how much is in the vault?”

I shrugged.

“My guess is not enough for a plane of heroin. We could sell the cars, the boat…”

“Hey now,” I contested, “that’s my boat.”

“Oh sorry, I was operating under the guise that you were interested in living along with preserving the lives of your family.”

That shut me up.