Irma waits by the window, Vaguely looking down at her socks And humming. Possibly her Father will come home with a box Of chocolates. Possibly Not. Father's memory Was never what it once was. Shouldn't really drive anymore, Either. As if in answer, With a sound like blowing up your Ears, Father's jeep crashes Through Irma's wall. She says Bad words as several hundred Boxes of her favorite kind Of chocolate fill her bedroom. But she doesn't actually mind