The knob creaked at the door, and he opened it and entered, greeted by the scream of his mom, "Gezza!--harsh with all the anxiety and all the indignation in it, and slicing through the burnt-coffee air.
With a soft thud he closed the door, relieved, the old smell coming down on him.
"Morning, Ma," he said, and went to his room, though her heavy feet walked out, her eyes looking at him in a scanning manner, and her eyes twisted in aggravated disapproval.
"Where you been?" vowed she, which did choketh the voice: Chillin with friends, he said to himself, with a froth of aggravation.
"At least tell me when you are not coming home. I waited up--again."
"I am not a kid, he snarled", and stuck out his tongue.
"But you are undern my roof", she shot back, combining love and anger.
She was about to put her arms around him, and then she sniffed away. "Urgh, you stink. Shower, now."
