“What’d you get?” Don asked lazily.
Toby tossed down a rumpled, plastic grocery and plopped down beside his brother on the slanted roof, “Snack size bag of Cheetoes, one Zinger, and three clementines.”
Don didn’t even look at the bag, choosing instead to focus on the clouds overhead, “Not much of a breakfast.”
“Yeah, but not like mom’s making waffles today,” Toby answered as he settled into place, pulling the tattered brim of his Deere ball cap down over his eyes.
“She ever made waffles?” It was a fair question for Don to ask, Toby being the elder brother by a few years that extended back to before the problems, or at least, their knowledge of the problems.
Toby considered it carefully and answered, “I think she bought Eggo’s once.” The boys sat silently for a while. The sun crept a little higher over the Carolina suburb. Clouds drifted away; new ones drifted in. Something scampered along the branches of the nearby Poplar. Mrs. Osteen next door took her garbage out.
“Life goes on, huh.”
“Yeah.”