He and Riley use to stargaze when they lived in Chicago. They would go to the very top of the apartment building, popsicles melting in their hands.
Riley was pretty much a normal little brother, still a great whiny pain in the ass, but he had far more beign ambitions:
“I’d like to go on a spaceship. It’d be fun to float all day long.”
“Being an astronaut is more then floating all day in space. Plus you’ve got to get a lot of training and that requires a lot of education, which requires lots and lots of money.”
“My friend Mickey says that they’re making it so that normal people will be able to take rides on space shuttles.”
“Riley, if that does become possible, it’d only be for rich, probably white, men. You’d never be able to afford such a trip. And your popsicle is dripping on my foot.”
“MOOOOOM! Huey’s being a killjoy again!”
Even then, Huey had little optimism. But there was wonder to be found in the infinite of space.
But now, Huey was drawn to the troubles of Earth.
His sigh was interrupted:
“Damn all ta hell, Huey! You still hog the telescope and you’re probably looking at the lame constellations like Anus instead of the cool ones like Hercules!”
“It’s called Apus Riley.”
Riley’s popsicle dripped once more on Huey’s foot.