Mrs. Parker waited impatiently for her suitcase as Mr. Parker unloaded the red Wrangler. Exhausted from the 3-hour plane ride, Mr. Parker let out a lengthy yawn and sniffed the fresh air; Two weeks of NYC polluted his nostrils. Finally, Mr. Parker came home to his 3 fish and his only son, Henry Parker. Mrs. Parker struggled as she dragged along her 60-pound suitcase; she insisted on bringing her entire shoe collection with her on the trip. As she finally reached the porch, Mrs. Parker yanked the door open and a wave of garbage spilled out onto the porch. Quite confused, she entered the doorway. As she tripped over piles of beer cans and Doritos bags, Mrs. Parker helplessly grabbed onto the closest stable object: A coat stand. All of the other furniture was either turned over or broken, except for 2 sofas and a desk. The smell was as fowl as a pile of used Pampers sitting in a dumpster for months with rotting food. Old spaghetti and casserole replaced the paintings on the walls, as shards of glass and wood settled clumsily on more heaps of beer cans. Wallpaper peeled off the walls and crumbled to the ground. Piles of plates stacked on top of one another like an impetuously constructed high rise. The fish tank appeared broken and empty, except for 3 dead fish and a lonely castle. And in the center of the room, Henry, Mr. Parker’s son, gazed mindlessly into the television screen. “What is the meaning of this?!” Mr. Parker cried out. Henry was 24 and still living at home, but she knew that he was more responsible than this.