[liberally adapted from reality]
The house was silent save for the flickering of some distant infomercial blasting through the two am airwaves: a direct transmission of nothingness from the autocorrected perfection of the studio right into Dad’s vacant, tired eyes.
Continue reading “A Hatred of Clubbing that Transcends Generations”
Mum took a spontaneous trip to New Orleans this past week, which means that Dad has been home all alone.
Now, Mum normally gets the brunt of the memoir/sledge-hammer, but I really think that’s mostly because she’s a much more exuberant personality. Dad, on the other hand, is a quiet force, soldiering on beneath the radar.
Continue reading “The Morning Routine with Dad”