The quiet night is shattered by an explosion of screamed profanities. I bolt upright, half-awake, and blink at the bedside clock: 1am glows red and angry.
Now, we live in a neighbourhood with its fair shares of late night family screaming matches and drunken parties. It’s an army suburb, so people come and go, thus the sense of community is fragile. This time, however, the yelling is coming from my own lounge room, from my own wife. “Fuck! Fuck you! You piece of fucking shit!”
I’m frozen at the realisation. And still dazed, I wonder: who is in my house, and why on Earth would they piss off my wife?!