“Did you want your drink back honey?” Donovan had run to catch up. He'd taken a job picking up waste at Funderland. The job description hadn't mentioned a ride manager (or watcher, or overseerer or what ever) asking him to return a drink to a kid that had had to leave behind when they got on the ride. Said kid had walked away with his mother afterwards. The drink forgotten. Until Donovan caught up to give it back.

At least the was the plan because the kid was now vigorously shaking his head no.

“You can just throw it away,” his mother said nonchalantly before starting to walk away again to the Wizened’s disbelief. His own mother would have made him drink the whole giant sized cup before having him put it in the recycling. Even soda cost money and she was just letting her son throw it away.

“Ma’am, I ain’t throwin’ away yer son’s trash for him. You need to teach him how to pick up after himself and appreciate what he's got or he’s goin’ to grow up a spoiled brat.” Donovan’s voice was neutral but he realized he probably could have phrased it better a second too late. Still, it was the truth.

“Excuse me. You don’t get to tell me how to raise my son,” she said, stopping and turning to threat on her parental rectitude. She sounded indignant “It’s your job to pick up trash.” Her self-righteous tone flared something inside Donovan. Not just her treatment of him. Something deeper and primal. “And it’s like it would be hard. There’s a garbage can right there and you’re already holding it in your hand.”

“Yeah,” the little kid added mimicking his mother’s privilege “you touched it last.”

That settled it.

Donovan walked forward ominously. Silently, he approached the woman and her son, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the little boy. The mother pulled her offspring closer like a deer about to protect their young. The Wizened stopped short of arms reach, slowly raised the cup. The munchkin’s eyes followed the ascending drink. The mother kept hers on Donovan. At least until he dropped the coke. Despite her efforts to step back the sugary syrup exploded all over the two like a trap springing on unsuspecting prey.

Donovan reached down and picked up the plastic cylinder.

“You can clean up the soda. You touched it last,” he deadpanned, dropping the cup in the waste bin as he walked off. He could feel the hateful gaze burn into the back of his neck and he drank it in like soda pop.