A Night In Daddy's Bed
he said at last, tapping at the rusted fittings.
He climbed down slowly, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt before offering a handshake. Even as he did so, his eyes flicked toward the front door, uneasy. His wife was inside. She would have heard the news, or seen the reports, or both.
From somewhere upstairs, music thumped loudly through the house, heavy bass, broken rhythm, the sound of a generation trying to drown something out.
Lucas followed my gaze.
“I keep telling her to turn it down,” he said quietly, “but she insists it needs to be loud. Says it’s just what happens when you get older.”