The seat he always used had a tiny wobble on the right leg, and that was how he knew he was truly back.
He pressed his palm against it, testing.
It was still loose, still annoying, but still home.
Around him, the DW buzzed in a kind of anticipation you couldn't fake with that steady undercurrent of people settling in, trading guesses about lineups, complaining about the cold, passing drinks across rows.
It had been three straight matches watching this team on television, and it always felt good to be back in the stadium where it felt like he could contribute to the team's win.
Out on the pitch, the last of the warmup cones were being scooped up.
A few kids leaned against the railing, waiting for players to jog past, while two older supporters behind him were arguing about who should be on the pitch in place of whom.
