Photo Source: Flickr Flames of anger lick his skin, eager and hungry. “Fuck!” he screams, tossing molded jars of hazelnut spread into the garbage. Despite the seven trips he’s made to the dump and the four to Goodwill, his father’s possessions cling to him like dandruff. “Fucking hell! Who keeps this shit? Why couldn’t he’ve sorted this mess while he was alive?” Rage curdles into guilt. He shouldn’t speak to his father this way. Shouldn’t be so impatient with him. Is it possible dad’s...