There’s a small kid who looks up at his father and his father tells him all of the wisdom he’ll ever need. As he grows up, he continues to look for that advice even more and more but as he grows, it seems like he’s repeating the missteps of his youth. His mother warns him about his fathers health but he refuses to hear it, because his father is his backbone, his vertebrae for carrying on in this world.

He wants to cry every time he hears the ambulance wail on at night but he can’t, for his father feels it shows weakness. With strained voices and nearly gruff tones he continues to tell him, “I only want the best for you.”

The scene replays itself in his head, numerous moments of sitting back in a tepid nine to five job. There’s no distance between the bottom and the top, for neither path is attainable. He knows he can easily slip into his old ways and land himself in jail for a far worse crime but knows the consequences. He’s been given a second chance, a harder path to overcome but it’s a path that will yield the greatest reward.

He attempts to block the world out and focus himself on his father but more issues arise. This time, it’s the woman in his life, the woman who bore him. He gets most of her features, her looks and her sense of doing the most with the least. She complains of heart trouble, her blood pressure risen to unfathomable levels because of the stress her husband, her mate, her partner for nearly 30 years is putting her through.

He plays it off calmly, fed up with living check to check and working strictly to pay bills. He’s been here six decades, he’s tired, he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost half a decade and sees no help in sight.

But his son constantly sees strength, reminds him of it every time and tries to warn him about the inevitable end. The both of them refuse to even think that far and merely choose to celebrate the past and cherish the present. He’ll breathe ragged, inhale cigarette smoke like Joe Camel was his best friend when he’s actually more comfortable chilling with the Marlboro Man. He understands his vices, controlled them to an extent, slowed down on the packs. One full one now becomes a half, steadily wondering about his son.

The same son who sits in a single spot at the house, behind his laptop, in front of a television, seeing the rest of the world move while he’s there to report it. He has dreams but finds no motivation to execute them. Idle wisdom gets passed along but few only hear it. He knows he has a select few on his side, some due to prior affiliation and others to current affiliation of a love of music. The same one who feels rejected because he can’t even join the family business and try to keep the house afloat.

“Buy a suit,” he hears. “For what,” he asks. “In case.”

In case of what, death? Funerals? It eats him even more, because he knows those words are feminine in tone but dark in meaning. He refuses, constantly. He’ll buy it on his terms, hopefully to see a celebration of achievement rather than a celebration of passing.

While he dreams of doing better, the son also thinks of the man who gave him most of his wisdom, struggling to live. His mother, struggling to cope and hopes her heart can hold up enough to stick through the worst times. He has to make a move.

Move and turn family business, into his own business.