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I rang the doorbell and after a long minute, it was finally answered by my old man. Dad ushered me in.

“So, how was your day?” he asked. 

“The usual”, I replied in a tiring tone sprinting past him straight to the fridge to quench my thirst.

He retired to his chair and engrossed himself in the news channel to beguile his time.

I went to my room and trawled through my bag.

“Bountiful of morons and freak is what this generation has,” he said to mom, who had busied herself in the kitchen preparing something delicious for her son.

Something in the news must have ticked him off again, I wondered.

“I just don’t get them. Why would they take such a step.”, he continued in a louder tone competing with the muffled sound of the spices being fried.

None have a damn clue about responsibility. The news says that two successful postgraduates left their high paying jobs to start a street shop. Why not decide it when they were eating away and burning their parents’ wealth for education.

It’s just another excuse while they run away with their tail between their legs. They succumb to little pressure and work; and to get rid of it, they lie through their teeth yapping about the adventure and ownership.

“They might have planned it for a brighter future”, mom protested.

“I am telling you, they’re soon going to return to their parents’ as crybabies. Those cretins have not the foggiest idea of the uncertainty this life brings along, and they merrily kick away their steady jobs.” He said.

“I am almost done. You better freshen up.” mom told me on her way out of kitchen noticing that I hadn’t changed the sweaty clothes.

I stood there in the hall, paralyzed, holding the resignation letter and future plans of being an entrepreneur.

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