(Editor’s note: this is a flash-fiction by Daniel R. Jones, the editor-in-chief of Short Tale Shrew)
It was 1:27 a.m. when I awoke to a knock on our front door.
“Wasn’t Kaylee’s curfew midnight?” I asked my husband as I rose and peered through the blinds.
Two policemen wearing navy-blue peaked caps stood on our doorstep.
“It’s the police!” I told my husband.
“Are their hats on or off?” he asked, now sitting upright in the bed.
“Now what does that have to do with anything?” I asked.
But by the time I opened the front door, their hats were off.