I was nervous about reuniting with my dad. He could be distant. Twenty seven yearsof being the only window wiper in Switchblade had forced him to distance himself from others 由 at least a windowpane. I recall my mom breaking down crying on the sofa after one of their rows and him just watching her stoically, right outside the window, wiping in powerful, circular motions.
When I saw him waiting for me outside the terminal, I walked toward him shyly, tripping over a toddler and soaring into a keychain display. Embarrassed, I straightened up and fell down the escalator, somersaulting over the...
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