They call me Mr. Spiffy.
Not because I’m anything special or anything.
It’s my name. My name is Walter Spiffy.
Oh, sure, I think people are talking to Dad when they say “Mr. Spiffy” but Dad’s been gone for years.
Not dead. Gone.
Not very spiffy at all, really.
Left when I was twelve.
I guess things weren’t all that spiffy in the Spiffy Family.
Never gave a reason, just walked out the door and never came back.
He left his bowling shoes, too. He never went anywhere without those. Even the shower.
Check ’em out. Don’t they look spiffy?