Part 3

Number 8 was out of place. It jarred in his mind, there was something that didn't fit together; like if there was a room full of conservatives, and a person, alone in the middle, saying, "Yes, I'm very proud of the trade union I'm in, they're a very good idea." He turned sharply to the boy.
"I can't believe it's happening again" he spat,
"What is" The boy said calmly, ignoring the man's rage. The man gesticulated towards number 8.
"She's hitting her child"
"Well you could stop that," the boy suggested calmly. The man glanced tentatively at the boy and rubbed his hands in frustration.
"No, no i can't" he said looking worried "i can't interfere in free will and all that." He turned to look away from the boy. He watched a pidgin. He watched a cat. He turned to face the boy. "Well," he said, a mischievious smile dawning over his face, "maybe this once."

Part 2

The avenue was, ascentually, middle class. His house was the same as everyone elses in the row, the conformity comforted him, but he still wished he had something different, some small rebellion. He looked at the boy with more interest now. He was standing on his lawn, there was going to be two imprints in the grass where his feet had been. 'Ha' he thought to himself, there was his rebellion. No one else in the road had two small indents in there lawn, suck on that number 8. He turned towards number 8 and swore violently at the house. The boy didn't look schocked.

Part 1

The day was cold. Drat. He hated cold days because the TV in his house stopped working; unless, he put a towel over it, to warm it up. He didn't have a towel big enough to but over his whole house... and anyway all his towels were being used to stop the rats from chasing his cat. And the cat wasn't really a cat, mealy the potential for where a cat could be, which annoyed him even more. However i digress.

"What?! get off my loarn, i just made it sermetrical!"
"But sir, you said..."
"Shut up" he said, more to himself than the boy, his voice abbed, "why don't you just...." he peired at the boy, "your my son arn't you?" he asked politly.
"No sir."
"Good, being thirty five he should be taller than that."
"Are you drunk?" He paused to think about the boy's question. If the answer was yes... it would explain a lot, especaily the empty beer bottles in his house and the dead man in the garden.
"I say..." he said, trying to look kinder, "would you mind helping me call the police, you see there's a dead body round the back and i can't fine the phone under all the empty beer bottles."
The boy looked confused. He opened his mouth to speak.
"What...again?"