The worst part about it was the promises he made when he was drunk. At least when he was sober, he meant what he said — never failed to follow through on a beating.
He passed out chest down on the heating grate in the floor. His wife and daughter tugged his arm, straining to drag him off the metal grid, sealing tomorrow’s fate with their lack of strength. He woke with second degree waffle burns, hollering.
Those were the days the man was always right. It should have made him happy.