He stepped through the front door, taking care to bang his sneakers on the tiles to be heard above the TV. He knew the police had phoned his dad about the mugging.
It’s not like he expected special treatment or anything, he knew better than that, but he hoped anyway.
Maybe one of those quick, awkward hugs people give like they’re touching a snake. One of those would be nice.
He tensed as his father’s boots sounded in the hallway, cringed as they got closer. He waited.
His father stopped a few feet away, staring, eyes taking in the ripped clothing and black eye. His arms reached out, touching the torn, blood-stained coat. “No wonder they didn’t take this thing,” he laughed. “Hope you have enough money to pay for a new jacket,” he walked back to the couch.