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Mike awoke to the sound of a car pulling into his drive. When he checked his alarm clock on the cabinet next to his bed, it was quarter past eight. Sunday mornings were usually busy affairs for him, busy baking for his workmates at the garage on Monday. Instead of getting up at six, he’d rolled over and dozed.
His pop let himself in the front door, Mike knowing the moment he did because his old man couldn’t close doors quietly. The house almost shook when his pop arrived. Getting himself up, Mike found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt to put on, having slept in his underwear. With the air conditioning not working properly, he’d found it hard to cool down.
After putting on a pair of socks, he made his way downstairs and found his pop with his face buried in the refrigerator. “Where have
