“Dear Jaiden,” he started aloud, arms folded across his chest, scowling up at the ceiling. Why was he even writing a letter back home, again?
“Here I am at Camp Remote,” which is a stupid rich kid camp for stupid rich kids who are stupid and if my dad wasn’t caretaking I’d–
“I believe it’s pronounced ‘re-mo-tay’, sir.”
Oh yeah, Crash. His robot butler. Kitbased together from the stupid rich kids’ leavings.
Why couldn’t he be in the city?
Wait, no, not the city. That was noisy and stupid too.
“Dear Jaiden-“ he began again, again, again.