WritingAnon

Little Black Book

Stephanie searched her father’s eyes. The walls around her were dressed in an alarming red wallpaper with faded, gold parallel lines running across the length of its body. The occasional rift in the material exposed bits of the white wall underneath, revealing the restaurant’s old age. Without much precision, or reason, the shiny, brown furniture was scattered around the main room. Stephanie’s family sat around the circular table in what felt like the middle of the room.