Honeycomb

Our living room carpet is tinged dark-brown from all the feet that have walked over it. I curl my toes, squeeze my caprisun tight — pacific cooler juice shooting into my mouth. A cold grape otter pop in my other hand. In front of me, the summer Nickelodeon blares — a popsicle stick with glued on eyes and a tiny little mouth, cracks a few kid-approve jokes.

Will B. Right Back. The little squiggly cartoon character says before the commercials roll. A gang of kids roll down the street on skateboards, kicking up their boards to stop when they see their mom outside the house. She’s got a box of honeynut cheerios, with a big oversized bee hovering over her shoulder. He smiles, and passes the boys a bowl of cereal that they greedily eat up.