The Gorpensteins had been traveling the world for the past three years, collecting feathers for dreamcatchers, and curing orphans of Athlete’s foot along the way. After three years, they had exhausted their funds and grew weary of living off meals of cattails and pond water.
So the Gorpensteins – there were three of them – packed up their Pinto with their feather collection and drove back to their hometown of Noodleton.
No one recognized them as they drove down the cobblestone road leading to their abandoned house. Maybe it was because the Gorpensteins had been gone for three years; maybe because the Gorpensteins now all wore tankinis made of mud and clay in lieu of cotton shirts and jeans. Maybe because half the town had gone blind from the great turpentine factory explosion of ’06.
The earthy family eventually traversed the entire length of Palm Drive, spilling the Pinto out onto their old property.
One by one, the Gorpensteins exited their rusted green Pinto with the broken tail light and shielded their eyes from the afternoon sun.
"Well," started Papa Gorpenstein, as the family stood in a huddle, gazing up at the lopsided structure that was once their home but was now a bait shop. "This changes everything."