The Spot was your dad. Or at least, that’s how you liked to think of it for you were adopted by him. Right now you sat in the back seat of the car, The Spot sitting in the front as he tried to order you both McDonalds.

“Look at my kid in the backseat, man.” The Spot would say to the worker, being cut off as you mumbled for him to shut the hell up.

“YOU AINT GETTING NO ICE CREAM!” he’d turn around to tell you, his spots shifting.