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With great pride, the aging father placed an English pocket watch into the hands of his only son. The newly-turned eighteen-year-old glided his fingers across the white enamel dial, carefully inspecting its black roman numerals. Tiny bruises diminished the luster of the back casing. He felt the year 1913 etched into the sterling silver. It was tradition. A testament to past generations. Three months later, the treasured memento transformed into an eighty-six-inch flat screen television. Now, the son rests peacefully on the couch in his studio apartment—fixating on the animated sponge that lives in a pineapple under the sea.

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