My old man used to promise me “the belt” from time to time.
It was one of his most priced possessions and one day he’d pass it on to me. I could not care less of it. It represented how it bound him to the house that I wanted to leave desperately so I could go hang out with friends like other teens. In time I moved out permanently at what happened to the belt I do no know. I only thought of it today as I shopped for one so I could keep my most used tools near now that I’m working on home projects left and right. They aren’t chores and I have fun doing them.
I suppose I have fallen in love with Casa Torres. My children might say I’m bound to it.