Snippet #1762896

The drive from New York to the Dakotas had been a long and tiring trip, as one would imagine with two rambunctious teenagers packed like so many Sardines in a vehicle which was itself overflowing with the brick-a-brack that the family had accumulated over the years. John was usually an even-tempered man, but by the time John had stepped out of the car he was not in the best of moods. Raising his voice a bit he called out to his children, "Now don't just take your own stuff, you two. Come on, give me a break today. We have a lot of unpacking to do, so I don't wanna hear any complaints. Lets just get this done. The moving truck was only an hour or so behind us, should be here anytime now." The house was much bigger then anything the family had lived in since the death of John's wife and his children's stepmother Angela, a year ago. The lose of Angela was made even more devastating by the fact that his first wife had died only two years before. ""Drunk drivers who kill people should be execute themselves,"" John thought to himself angrily. Brushing the dark thoughts from his mind John commented on the similarly of the few homes that had been built thus far. Saying in the presence of his two children, "For some reason I'm reminded of the song Pleasant Valley Sunday by the Monkees." His children looking at him strangely as they wondered what the heck their father was talking about