I mean, I know I like him, but he’s so different from me and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing. “Did you go on my computer?” My dad hollers from his office when I pass to put the bagel box away. I pause at the entrance, “No, why?” His usual laid back features and posture are now hunched over, shoulders to his chin with tension and brows knitted together as one. “It says I last logged in at two in the morning.” I roll my eyes. My dad is over-paranoid about his computer. I blame the pot. He always thinks someone is trying to hack into it. Honestly, if someone was going to break in wouldn’t it be for expensive items or the safe with money, or just take the whole darn laptop? “Someone’s definitely been on here,” he reiterates. “Dad, you’re being paranoid again.” This happens a few times a year. By now I brush it off.
