He’d grown to hate this place.
The lights, the noise, the smell of candy floss and barely concealed vomit tangoing through his nostrils, it all grated on him in an almost unique way.
It hadn’t always done so; when he was young this place was full of magic and excitement for him. His Dad would take him down to the pier regularly on his weekends, while the ones with his mother were more often spent at home, and he loved every minute of being here.
The problem was that he began to realise, all too soon, that the reason for the frequent trips to this garish headache-made-flesh with his Dad was that the old bloke didn’t know what else to do with a child. So what had once been an exciting treat every couple of weeks quickly became a reminder of broken promises, disinterest and disappointment.
And now here he was, repeating the cycle with his own kids.
No, he promised himself while he watched them run between the coin-drop machines, he wasn’t going to let things repeat. He wasn’t going to let things end the same way for them as they had for him and his father.