"Hey look, I jus' don' wanna do construction, O.K.?" Stony twiddled a pencil between his fingers in a seesaw motion.

Father and son glared at each other across the room. Tommy suddenly bolted from the bed and headed for Stony. Scared, Stony sidestepped to the closet. Tommy charged past him to the desk and began pulling out drawers and rifling through the crap until he found a blank piece of loose-leaf paper. With his other hand he picked up a chair and banged it down in front of the desk. "Siddown," he barked at Stony.

Stony hesitated for a second, then cautiously sat, Tommy towering over him. Tommy slapped the sheet of paper. "Gimme that pencil." Tommy grabbed it from Stony's fingers, leaned over the desk and numbered the paper. "Here." He jammed the pencil into Stony's hand and closed Stony's fingers around it. "Now, I want you to write me three things you wanna be."

Stony held the pencil upside down and stared puzzled at Tommy.

"G'head. Write!"

"What?"

"Write down three things you wanna do witcha life."

Stony bent slowly over the paper, frowning like he was doing a surprise quiz.

"You got two minutes." Tommy stood over him, arms folded across his chest like a proctor.

Stony turned and twisted his head, looking up at Tommy. "You wanna get outta my light?"

Tommy walked out of the bedroom. "You got two minutes." Stony heard the bathroom door lock and a second later a glissando of piss. He stood up and gave the bedroom door crossed forearms before plopping back down to his task. He stared out the window and chewed his pencil. He held his head in his hands. He drew a big prick and labeled it, "Thomas De Coco, Sr." He bit off half the eraser and spit it out the window. He wrote down, "Work with kids." He picked his nose with his pinky, examined it and wiped his finger on the underside of the desk.

"You got one minute," Tommy warned from the doorway, lighting another cigarette.

Stony jumped up and saluted, "Sieg Heil!"

"Faggot fascist hard hat" was number two. He eliminated the prick and Tommy's name with what was left of the eraser. He stared at the paper, the number three, noticed an old James Brown album, "Mister Dynamite," lying under the TV, chuckled and wrote, "Mister Dynamite."

Tommy grabbed the paper from Stony's hands. "Whadda you, a smart-ass or somethin'?"

Stony smiled meekly, a fuck you in his eyes.

"You wanna be a nursery school teacher and you're callin' me a faggot?"

"Who wants to be a nursery school teacher?"

Tommy picked up the paper and read out loud: "Work with kids." He dropped the paper. It floated into Stony's lap.

"So?" Stony tossed the paper on the desk.

"So what's that mean? Kindergarten? 'Romper Room'? Milk and cookies? Whatta they gonna call you. Miss De Coco?"

"No! I can get a gig in a hospital workin' with kids. A friend a mine got me a deal if I want at Cresthaven."