He had dusted off his father’s old golf clubs and took practice swings at air balls and putted across the area rug into an overturned pot from the lilliputian kitchen. He bounced on the aerobic trampoline until his hair dripped with sweat. Another time he moved the dumbbell rack and lifted weights while flexing his scrawny arms in the mirror as he had seen his father do, but the humidity was much more conducive to sloth than exercise.

Although temporarily diverting, none of the stuff in the main room offered much potential for mischief and, in fact, it was ultimately a bit depressing because inseparable from memories of his father. It was difficult for Kim to suppress his irritation at his dad for the way he had ripped him off this summer.