Reading and writing are the only things I desire...unless we're talking about food
It all happened during his sixteenth birthday. Everything was going fine. Or so I had thought. We were in a small, cheap restaurant. The furniture was wooden but looked like it might shatter at any moment. Behind the counter sat the owner who did not look friendly in the slightest. He was a man with a black beard and a matching mustache. His hair was curly and looked as if he hadn't washed it for weeks.
By Ash3 years ago in Fiction
