rolled over sleepily and tried to get back to his spaceship. But it was
useless. ‘Alright Yancy i’m getting up, you won. Congratulations.’ He said
grumpily. Fry pulled himself out of bed and stretched, before putting on
his favourite t-shirt and red jacket. He had worn those same clothes since
he was twelve years old and he wasn’t gonna stop now.
‘PHILIP! GET YOUR BUTT OUT HERE! MOM MADE BREAKFAST AND IF YOU DON’T COME
DOWN SHE’LL COME UP!!!’ Fry let out a huge sigh, and dragged himself
through the door and down the stairs to the table where his mother,
Catherine, and father Yancy Senior, sat eating bacon and eggs at their
small, wooden table. The Frys were not the richest of all people. The
lowest of middle class society, bordering on the race of people who had to
rent houses and sit there eating leftovers around a fire sitting on pillows
because they couldn’t afford a couch.
The only thing that got them by was his father’s job as a bank
manager. Which paid barely enough for Fry’s weekly allowance of $2 (which
he mainly spent on cola). Their other lifeline was Fry’s job as paper boy.
Every morning (excluding Monday) he would get up at 5am and ride his bike
to the news stand where he got five hundred papers to deliver in three
hours before school in exchange for a payment of $10. This constant early
start caused Fry to fall asleep in most of his classes, therefore getting
behind in work and, more often than not, getting a detention.
OK enough about the life story, if you’v …to be continued!