swept away by large, cursing, sweaty men and stuffed into dilapidated cardboard boxes. Where once it had greeted him, each time he had padded downstairs, with familiar smells; the promise of a new Matchbox car adventure; hide-and- seek with his cousin Justin, it now said nothing, nothing but the echo of his mother’s voice against the newly-painted walls, an echo that made him want to clap his hands over his ears, that made him want to scream, and to find any object sharp enough to tear long gashes in the just-polished floors.