It was cold when he got up. The wind was moaning through the walls like it had all night. Rattling the door and thumping in gusts. The line shack creaking and listing like a sailing schooner when the wind held long and steady against it. [Continue]
The old guy was picking through the garbage. He looked asian. Nondescript middle age. A dirty shirt. Searching for something to eat in the overflowing trash can. The young guy was smoking at a table next to the wall. Flicking ashes in a cup. His hair was dull brown. Jeans and a tee shirt under [Continue]
