You were the kid of Stevo, unfortunately for him, you were a punk. You were a true punk, way more than he ever was. It drove a stake between the two of you, he as a lawyer, you as a punk.

He should’ve seen it coming with the way you acted since you were younger. Hated his job, hated doctors, hated police. He blamed himself for letting you watch too much of the news, police beating on people. Of course it happened a lot out on the streets, on the way to school, police beating on protesting punks, stuff like that.

Stevo tried his best to keep you under control, to keep you close. You hated his money, his job, the fact he was a poser.

“Hey,” Stevo said softly, standing in your doorway, holding a bag. “I got you something,” he said as he held it up for you.