“Who are we fighting?” a familiar voice asked, and we both turned to find Joey sprawled out on one of the couches with a coat draped over him. “So that’s why you weren’t in religion class,” Johnny accused. “You were taking a bleeding nap.” “Come and talk to me when you have a colicky newborn feeding on demand at home,” Joey replied, standing up. “Back to my question.” He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck from side to side. “Who are we fighting?”
