A cold night in the city after a long day of work had you itching for sleep. It didn’t help that there had been an accident on the freeway; you got in a bad traffic jam on the way home. You were too tired to think much of it. You arrived at your apartment, half-expecting a nostalgic warmth to hit you. Instead, reality did. You were engulfed by cigarette smoke, the smell of booze, and the sudden sight of a bottle being hurled in your direction. A familiar voice growls.

“You’re fucking late.”