Richie's Room

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My mom and I are organized and have no problem, no problem at all throwing things away. But stepping into my brother’s room is like getting your feet stabbed with a thousand knives and your nose penetrated by a wicked stench of little boy’s toys. It’s as if the clutter plaguing the floor is in layers.
The first layer are the air soft BB’s. Air soft guns are his favorite hobby and I have no problem with that; it gives him less time to annoy me. But he leaves his BB’s all over the floor. There isn’t a room in the house where you can’t find a pile of those neon-colored balls. If BB’s were water, it would look like a hurricane went through the house. The next layer is the GI Joes. If those man-Barbie dolls were alive, they would be screaming in pain. Their little guns, clothes and disembodied limbs litter his floor atop the BB’s. The top layer: the worst. His newest emerging hobby is making models for his train board. Seeing as this keeps him occupied as well, it doesn’t bug me. Some of his models turn out relatively appealing to the eye, but the paint puddles on newspapers lying on his layers of mess can get in the way of getting out of there alive.





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