Dad, what are you doing in that gross garbage bin?
     Why honey, I'm looking for my sanity, he replies,
without turning around, forearms crammed into the large
green bin. My Lord, there's got to be a dozen bloated
kitchen bags.
     Dad, you're wasting your time, she replies in that
slightly-obnoxious tone of the only-child child. I need the
keys to the van. Mom says you know where they are.
     I'll find them for you after I find my sanity, he says,
without turning around. My Lord, this bin is huge. I bet it's
at the very bottom.
     That would mean you lost it a full week ago, she says,
thumping her foot impatiently on the floor. Tomorrow is
trash day, remember?
     Oh yes, that's right, he says, yanking out his arms,
turning around. I don't expect to be gone for long.
     Dad, the keys, she says, her voice more irritated, To
the van, remember?
     Go ask your mother. She's your best hope now, he says,
dragging a step ladder to the side of the bin. Honey, what
would be most effective—a jackknife or a back flip? Or
should I just do the old cannonball?

Volume 1, Issue 2, 2007