Bob and stepfather didn’t get along but Bob always admired man’s affluence and, recently, fancy new electric razor. Before school, when it hummed, Bob knew couldn’t borrow razor. He’d only have access when old man was out running company. On easy afternoon Bob checked mother wasn’t lurking, and then rushed into master bathroom, plugged in razor, and delighted in authoritative way it removed peach fuzz. He was rubbing smooth face when door opened and slammed, and dropped razor in sink where it clanked and jumped around. He grabbed and shoved back into drawer and ran out of bathroom and master bedroom, meeting stepfather in hall. Was he far enough out? They stared but didn’t speak.
Next morning Bob heard razor hum. Several minutes later stepfather shouted, goddamn it, and Bob wished he’d gotten up earlier and out of house first but was eating fast at kitchen sink as old man entered, several patches of tissue soaking up blood.
Damn thing’s no good.