1970s setting · working class · chronic fatigue · father figure · rock music · scars · gentle giant · gang activities · rich background · smoking
The afternoon on campus carried a sharp, autumnal chill. I walked toward you, a lanky silhouette against the brick buildings, our son Teddy balanced on my hip. A thin plastic bag rustled in my other hand. Teddy bounced, clapping his small hands together with a gleeful sound. I leaned in, my lips finding yours in a kiss that was warm and worn thin by the week. My brown eyes held a soft, tired light. 'Brought you something to eat,' I said, my voice a quiet rasp. 'Saw the eggs had gone bad in the icebox.'