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FFM1: Stale ChipsTim opened the door after a long, crummy day at work. Setting down his suitcase, he made a beeline for the single recliner in the living room—only to find that his obese, lazy sister had beaten him to it... For the third day in a row.He glared at her, steely gazed. She slowly lifted herself off the couch and lumbered into the kitchen to start making dinner.Tim grimaced as he sank into the armchair and immediately changed the channel from “Grey's Anatomy” to “CBS News.” He had taken her in out of pity, but she wasn't even trying to get employed somewhere like she promised. She just sat on her ass all day, eating all his food and watching soaps and medical shows. The only thing he could get her to do was to cook for them. Although she was good at that, he was still getting pretty frustrated fast at her unwillingness to do anything else.He continued stewing as he reached into the nearby bag of tortilla chips, putting three or four into his mouth at
Shattered StreetlampThe glass from the lamp shatters; there is a tinkling crescendo as the thousands of pieces fall to the ground. The light flickers and goes dim before dying completely. He can still see—the light from the other lamps around him still shine, but it is barely enough for him to look around. He bends down and picks up the rock, weighing it in his hand. He contemplates whether to do it again.“What are you doing?”He starts; looking around him frantically, he sees the silhouette of an older man coming towards him. As he comes closer, his fear turns to contempt for whomever this was; no doubt he was going to get in trouble for this. “Fuck you, old man,” he mutters under his breath.“Excuse me?” The older man is closer now. Looking up, he recognizes the familiar face of his psychology professor. “I'm quite disappointed, Cliff.”Cliff's eyes widen. “Professor Trombley?”His eyebrows furrowed as the lined face continued to frown.