In this small town in a rather basic building structure of no decade-worthy architectural feat, lived a family of average means. It did what most family do: get by. Tommy was an only child. He understood only what was in front of him, which then only meant, same breakfast of oatmeal and raisins, and the occasional birthday pizza. He never cared much for food, it did not interest him. He was never irked by it’s commonplace taste. His parents worked a job, one each. Mom was a neighborhood seamstress and dad was a produce delivery man. Tommy went to school, rarely called in sick and not much excitement happened to him on the playground. He was rarely bullied. He did his homework most of the time and if he was not getting good grades, his teacher never noticed and his parents did not reprimand him. He blended well into the medley of life. Unaffected by its variables he did not seek to pursue passionate hobbies or notice its unjust nature. At home he watched television and doodled some easily forgotten drawings. Life was a bland spice that was fitting for Tommy. He rarely laughed out loud and sometimes spoke to some of the boys on the playground. Mostly he kept to himself. Neither sad nor happy to play alone, he was okay to just exist. Life was neither to be understood or to be lived fully, it just was. Nothing to get upset over and nothing to complain about. Tommy lived to be of average adult age. Accomplishing nothing beyond forgotten school grades. This is Tommys’ story.
Living the Life of Reilly 