Photo prompt © Jan Wayne Fields
“The box said up to 20 people,” Martin insisted.
I gazed at the purple awning below and my eyes rested momentarily on my cousin’s bare feet. He inherited Uncle Georgie’s hairy toes, I noticed. His impulsive stubbornness, too, it seems.
“That’s not what they meant,” I shook my head.
Martin glared at me as if my IQ wouldn’t make it past the bottom inch of a ruler. “Twenty people is twenty people, Ralph. Math is math,” he announced and launched himself from the garage’s roof onto the tent.
And gravity is gravity … I sighed. I had 911 on speed dial.