The boy rushes to the cupboard and pulls out his game console. The same red “Repo” letters he saw before are scrawled over the front, reinforcing his fear that everything is changing. He sits for a moment on the cool birch floor in the pile of dust that is all that remains of the Persian rug that sat there moments ago, his video games strewn around him like useless gifts at Christmas. The boy wants to weep but is embarrassed at how pathetic that is. His mother embraces him and informs him that they have to move; they have run out of money. The boy glances across the hall and his brother’s sullen face explains that the move will be hard on everyone. The boy smiles half-heartedly at his mother and begins to pack his console into a box, trying not to focus on the red word that marks the end of his routine.