The children in the backseat fussed, not knowing where they were going. At first, they had been placated with the promise of a surprise, but twenty minutes had passed with no surprise in sight. Various buildings lined the sidewalk: a dilapidated library advertised a book sale as the car turned right on to another road. The two boys were at each other's throats, trying to see who could yell the loudest while the mom drove on. The oldest, who became ten that morning, suddenly stopped and looked back at a playground that they passed and he recognized. With the knowledge of where the car was going, he shushed the other boy, who was only seven, quiet. A glance outside was all it took for the little one to settle down. It had been a whole year since they could afford the time, money, and patience to return. The mother breathed a sigh of relief and pulled into the parking lot of the closest thing the family knew of extravagance. As they walked past the gate, the kids thought they could hear the trumpets of elephants announcing their arrival to the zoo.