“You having a stroke, son?” My dickhead dad calls from the front porch, actually making me jump. I prop my hands on my hips, giving him my best say-nothing glare. He’s not a stupid man. He’s grinning at me like he knows something. And I’m sure he does. I just don’t need him making it weird by making some joke about us giving the lawn a blow job or whatever shit he comes up with for entertainment.
