“Grandad?”  The boy swings his feet, lays his hand, moves his pegs.  “What happens when you gotta do something, but it’s scary and you wanna play cards?”

“You can’t do both?”

“Not really.”

“Sometimes, I guess, you do things because they’ve gotta get done.  And there’ll always be more time for cards.”

The boy thinks about this, and sighs.  “Ok.”

“You skunked me again.”

“I know.”

Then he takes the bag he’s already packed, grabs Mister Quibbles by the patched arm, and creaks into the basement.  The door yawns wide; there is a deep, distant chuckling.

He goes in skipping.


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