Real Estate Boy

by John Schoneboom

Father was a chancer but he had only ever harmed six people. It was all for his son Jenkins -- or so he told himself when he grimaced at shadows in the morning. Jenkins had made it known that he wanted his own room as soon as humanly possible. The boy had even been seen surreptitiously visiting real estate websites.

Father had no idea what to do next. He adored young Jenkins but there was no way he could afford a bigger house. Without any ideas of his own, he decided to head down to Spanish Tony's and see if that could shake loose a few options.

Long story short, a scam here, a five-fingered discount there, and before long Father had pulled together the greenbacks to get Jenkins any room he wanted.

"Well kid, what do you say?" said Father. "The semi-detached? Split level? Ranch? You name it."

Jenkins looked at his father and meditated briefly on crime.

"No thanks," he said. "I've actually sold a lot of my drawings and walked Mrs. Blompkins dog a lot, and I managed to buy my own caravan. I'm going to live there, if you don't mind. Thanks though."

And with that, he took his leave, leaving his father amused and dumbfounded, but happy.
Father was a chancer but he had only ever harmed six people. It was all for his son Jenkins -- or so he told himself when he grimaced at shadows in the morning. Jenkins had made it known that he wanted his own room as soon as humanly possible. The boy had even been seen surreptitiously visiting real estate websites.

Father had no idea what to do next. He adored young Jenkins but there was no way he could afford a bigger house. Without any ideas of his own, he decided to head down to Spanish Tony's and see if that could shake loose a few options.

Long story short, a scam here, a five-fingered discount there, and before long Father had pulled together the greenbacks to get Jenkins any room he wanted.

"Well kid, what do you say?" said Father. "The semi-detached? Split level? Ranch? You name it."

Jenkins looked at his father and meditated briefly on crime.

"No thanks," he said. "I've actually sold a lot of my drawings and walked Mrs. Blompkins dog a lot, and I managed to buy my own caravan. I'm going to live there, if you don't mind. Thanks though."

And with that, he took his leave, leaving his father amused and dumbfounded, but happy.
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