That night, all of the framed portraits and photographs hanging on the walls of his house began talking. It was deafening. Older versions of all of his relatives – older versions of himself – pontificated with each other until everyone was yelling.
He got caught up in an argument with his thirteen year-old self. Then his grandmother in the seventies.
Finally he had to leave and take a walk through the suburban streets. Out where he could think in silence, he realized something. If the house was so full of noise, was it really a home? Or more like a zoo?
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