“You’re just like your fucking father!”
That’s the last thing she said before slamming the door in my sorry face.
According to my watch, It’s seven-thirty. I should be at home eating the dinner that my wife slaved over with her and my boy, but new girl Nia left me an unnoticed lipstick stain on my brand new shirt that my son, Avery, got me for Christmas, so tonight’s plans have changed.
