Chapters 7-9

VII

It was 1968, and the Soviets were ruining Frank’s breakfast again.

He was chewing on something called a “Pop-Tart”, a flat rectangle of dough stuffed with fruit jelly and covered which what could only be generously called frosting. His sons loved this food novelty, and had, according to Susan, recently sworn off cold cereal in favor of these toasted things. He’d seen the box on the counter this morning and decided, what the hell, maybe if they were good he’d suggest they put some aboard...