Breakfast at the Romero's

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Leah hobbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the table. Poor guy – his hair was falling out more than ever. Mom stood at the stove, avidly shifting a sizzling pan. She glanced up when she heard Leah enter, flashed a skeletal grin, and passed her a plate.

“Look! I made you your favorite! Now dear, eat up so you’ll stay big and strong!” she said. Leah obeyed, digging a fork into the mushy lump of brain with a grin just as Dad’s rotten nose plunged into his cereal.

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