Son of a Bench

Christopher Brentley (age 37), in his charcoal-colored suit, took a seat at an empty bench beneath the atrium of a suspiciously quiet bakery. As he gently lay his suitcase down on the empty spot to his right, he noticed for the first time that one of the latches was broken (though the hook was still secure enough to keep it from popping open). After despondently attempting to mend the broken latch through brute force, Christopher immediately likened himself to a young boy attempting to fit a tubular block through a star-shaped hole, for, despite knowing that this would yield no success, he vented his frustrations by inflicting wrath upon inanimate objects.

This strangely triggered a sequence of seemingly arbitrary memories. Reminiscences these were not:

Age 8,

MOTHER:
“Honey, please swallow this. You won't get any better without it.”

Age 13,

TEACHER:
“If you don't score a 70% or higher on this exam, we can't let you participate in the Yellowstone trip.”

Age 34,

(EX-)WIFE:
“Of all the things you could have possibly done to destroy this...What are you, a child?!”

___________________________

Perhaps it's worth mentioning that Christopher's suit was stolen from a dumpster 8 hours prior, and it had 4 obvious tears: one in the left shoulder, two in the back, and one through the right pocket's bottom.

Mr. Brentley made a very conscious decision to ignore the thrift store employee's warnings as he tossed the (now acquired) mangled attire into a dumpster.

The contents of Christopher's badly scuffed burgundy suitcase were several dozen bundles of play-money. He frivolously tossed the suitcase off the bench (worthless green papers dispersing in the wind), and after a moment's reflection, he sorely lay down upon the bench (/his bed).

Common logic won't necessarily let us tie Christopher's' current failures to a simple phrase inciting a provocation of disobedience 29 years earlier, but that doesn't stop Chris himself from doing so.

--(Who cares if it was just medicine?)--

Age 38:

(please happen)