“It’s not working.”
Gabe put the newspaper down. “What isn’t?” A cloud of whiskey hung in the air, thick.
“My Nintendo…it’s broken.” Tiny rivulets trickled down Johnny’s cheeks.
“Shot, huh?” Gabe staggered toward his son’s bedroom. “Did you unplug it?”
“Blow in the cartridge?”
The man looked at the boy in deep contemplation, then eyed the plastic box. He breathed — sighed.
Gabe unplugged the Nintendo, strapped it to a fence post out back, and blew the thing to holy hell with his twelve gauge. Johnny screamed.
“Go on...play,” Gabe said as he nodded at nothing and everything.
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