“Who are you?” The simple words echoed through the concrete grotto, but Terah was still confused by the disappearance of the couple in the room. Instinct kicked in and he turned to face his accuser. Dressed in layered rags like he was, the owner of the voice looked hardly old enough to be a runaway. “California,” he said, knowing the homeless often named themselves. Given that he was wanted, it was safer that way. “I’ll call you Cal. I’m Michigan.” “Mich, then.” “What ya starin’ at, Cal? Most guys don’t like to let their guard down, even for a second.” Terah ignored the question. “What are you doing here, Mich?” Now that the age dynamic had kicked in, he felt a little superiority. “I live here.” “In an asylum?” “Very good, Sherlock. You figured it out. This is one of those places everyone knows you shouldn’t know about.” “You’re awfully young—” “You dint answer my question. What were ya sta...
Blog of a struggling writer.