Clean shaven with short hair, he looked young and straight. Attempts at small talk received only grunts, or silence with narrowing stares. He felt like a cop in a crack house. Making his way to the back of the room, he saw a familiar face. “I know you,” said a young-looking woman with a broad smile. “What are you doing here?” she asked. He walked by. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know.


About writesome

I've been wanting to do this for a while. Now I can type instead of pen scratch in a journal. It's an experiment, but isn't life. I wish you joy and happiness. May life bless you and may you bless life. View all posts by writesome

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