“Hey boy, get me that crescent wrench.  The middle sized one, now, ya hear, boy?”

“I’ve got a name,” Mark grumbled to himself as he dug through the pile of greasy tools trying to figure out which wrench was the “middle sized one”.

As Mark compared seven different wrenches, he inwardly cringed.  Dad would mangle the car and make it worse.  No use telling him that he needed the right tool, and that the crescent wrench, even the exact one he wanted, wasn’t right.  He’d heard it before.

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