Arin Thatcher

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓐𝓷 𝓤𝓷𝓱𝓸𝓵𝔂 𝓜𝓪𝓷...

The man’s shaky breath could be heard behind the ancient cedar that was strained with age and the past confessions.. Hate, crime, sin.. All of which ached at my ears and tightened at my throat. The smell of coffee on the nervous, blubbery man could not escape the cage like box that had become my second home.