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loss.
It's gone. They came and got it just like the note said and it's gone.

"How could you let them take it, Momma?" I cried out when I went to the basement and found the spot where the foosball table sat empty; the game was gone.

I came up the stairs and found the house just as empty as the spot where the game used to sit. Out in the back yard Momma was under a mimosa tree, a junk tree as Dad called it, cleaning sno-peas.

"Momma!" She didn't even look up when I cried her name.

"N.B., it wasn't ours to begin with." She must've known from my cries what was up 'cause she was talking to me the way she did when I wanted something I shouldn't have.

"But..."

"No buts, Nevin Beauregard," Momma wasn't gonna give me any help, "keeping it would be like stealing. Speak with your father when he gets home tonight."

Dad would fix it. He'd get it back and I'd have a foosball game again.



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