Call me Jonah, my parents did. Or they nearly did. They called me john. Johns not particularly a pleasing name, at least not in my opinion. It gives the impression that I’m likely to favour football over all else. Johns are simple, boring. I’m not a John, as much as my parents try to insist upon me that I am.

The small fire cackled in the living room, emitting light upon the oak floor. Somethin...