Daddy Fucked My Ass At The Karaoke Bar

The private karaoke room was a cocoon of neon lights and padded walls, a songbook thick as a Bible. My father Arthur booked it for the whole night. He sang Sinatra. I tried my best with Adele. Between songs, we shared a microphone and the distance between us shrank. The disco ball spun. The lyrics scrolled. But the only song I wanted to sing was his name.