Digging into his pancake breakfast, Dave beamed at the stars in his wife’s eyes. Nothing like good ol’ Mickey D’s to impress a woman.
Naomi swallowed a bite of hash browns. “I got another award from the division.”
Dave blinked. “You got an award from the division before?”
“You’re never around long enough to tell you these things.”
“Oh, sorry. Life’s been crazy, but things are going to change.”
“I hope so; thanks for breakfast.”
At home, Dave found his kids’ dishes in the sink. They’d eaten, all right: leftover pizza and root beer.
Dave went outside and shook his head at the shin-high grass. He glanced around at the neighbors’ lawns. They made his look like the scrap heap at work.
The neighborhood was silent. No one was around to get nervous and call the police, so he used his superpowers to cut the grass and pull all the weeds. His lawn was now neat and trim, but it was also boring.
“Hmm. This looks like a job for Powerhouse.”
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