I remember you. Me sitting in the corner playing with some shitty little toy, watching you come over to work my mom. She’d beg you to leave. She cried and, oh, man, you’d just do anything, even offer to score for her, just so you could get what you wanted. But you never got it, did you? See, my mom, she hated them. But she hated you more. In the end, she’s a Cody. And I’m a Cody, too.