pov: you are philip hamilton. your father is extremely tight-lipped and past-avoidant. you say this unprompted on a sunday morning:
"father. i'm so hungry i could eat hugh knox."
your father whips his head around. he repeatedly says "what" "how do you know who that is" "what" before sobbing into your mother's skirt and going to church for the first time in ages. your mother is glaring at you and takes away your breakfast. you are still very hungry. your siblings are busy trying to murder each other in the other room. you contemplate the absurdity of existence before wandering off to wreck havoc on innocent civilians. you think that this is the life.
you are philip hamilton, 24 hours before your duel with george eacker, which will surely end well.