Every weekend for as long as I can remember, my father would get up on a Saturday, put on a worn sweatshirt and he'd scrape away at the squeaky old wheel of a house that we lived in.
Cada fin de semana desde que tengo uso de razón, los sábados, mi padre se levantaba, se ponía una camiseta desgastada y raspaba en la vieja rueda chirriante de la casa donde vivíamos.