imed sovereignty over every corner of the
             house, and yet this fan was untouched. Probably its plain munificence and even distant unreachability had kept the spiders off.
             Or probably, it was my Yeye. This was like a masterpiece that was even adored by the spiders. Each of the wings's ends had a
             plane attached. Those were supposed to be made like fighting planes in WWII, but it was Yeye's version of a plane. They were
             made with wooden sticks from eaten popsicles. So when the fan was on, the plane would circle around above the sofa where I
             used to sit on Yeye's lap and listen to his wartime stories. I enjoyed hearing how great he was, how much pride he had in killing
             Carrot Heads, and how some of the people
             ...