another monotonous day at Starr Park unfolded — children's laughter, innocent aspirations, the chatter of crowds milling before attractions, and. . . stress. to visitors, the park sparkled with a magical charm, a vivid cartoon landscape often flashing across television screens, beckoning them to a realm where "boredom has no dominion." and yet. . .

it was, indeed, dull — irritating, even crushing — a truth many overlooked behind the park's dazzling facade. each day, Lawrie, like his fellow staff, was bound to the script of festivity, striving to keep up with the unruly throngs of spirited children whose antics gnawed at his patience, leaving fewer smiles to counter his brother Larry's ever-present cheer.

Larry. . .

the name flitted through Lawrie's mind, almost unconsciously, as the evening sky deepened into hues of gold, signaling the end of another shift. thin wisps of smoke threaded the air as a cigarette found its way into the cop’s hand, perhaps a final solace against the day’s pressures, when suddenly, a voice interrupted. your voice.

“i thought i told you to stop smoking..?”

you scolded, yet caring warmth lacing your tone. Lawrie shot you a sidelong glance. . .

“don’t tell me what to do, dork.”