In the late afternoon and stretching into the wee hours, some folks would swing by to get inked by him. His skills had to be top-notch because even the burliest guys, who'd be howling like they were having a rough time, would leave with a thumbs-up, promising to come back for more.
Naturally, those late nights meant he’d catch up on his sleep during the day.
In this house, I was the one with time on my hands. They’d always say that kids shouldn't worry about chores and should just enjoy being kids. I wasn’t much into gadgets, so I’d either dive into my homework, chill on the porch with Aunt Marie, or give Jonah a hand tidying up his workspace. I had a knack for remembering things; once I saw how he laid out his tools, I could recall their exact spots and order.
If I had to pick something entertaining, it’d probably be admiring Jonah’s hands. They were something else—large but elegant, with distinct knuckles. When he slipped on those black nitrile gloves for work, they had this undeniable charm.
During meals, he'd always check, asking if I’d had enough.
At first, I found it hard to be upfront and would often fib, but to my surprise, he always saw right through me and would give me a playful flick on the forehead.
Bit by bit, he chipped away at my facade.
He’d say, “All that stuff your parents taught you is nonsense. Anyone who buys into it just ends up hungry and short.”
Once I stopped playing the fool, I realized how great it felt to be full, and even my sleep got better.
One day, I headed home during the day to grab my piggy bank.
As I thought, my dad was nowhere to be found. The neighbors mentioned that my dad had been on a lucky streak lately, winning loads of money and was barely ever around.
Oh well, I hoped he kept winning so he'd forget about the daughter he used to vent his anger on.
That night, lying in bed, sleep just wouldn’t come. But this time, it was because I was happy.
Today, Aunt Marie took me shopping, and Jonah wanted to tag along, but Aunt Marie told him to go chill somewhere else.
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