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PROF. LAKEWOOD
Rain twiddles with her finger pulling at the ragged part on the thigh of her jeans. I try to ignore her fiddling but it becomes impossible when her foot joins in the nervous music. Bubbling up and down hitting the floor of the car. The sound is impossible to overlook even through the soft hum of the music.
Her focus on the road is great that marred lines form across her forehead, “Why are you fidgeting so much,” I question curiously.
All this should be in versa. I should be one the one all edgy and falling apart. Especially after learning that Lawrence forged my signature and withdrew around three quarters of our life’s s
