30
A loud knock on my door woke me up. I stared wide eyed at my landlord, when I opened the door. Mr. Walison was a short and stout man in his late fifties. He was well to do, which was evident in the number of houses he had within and outside the state. His visits to the lodge were rare and far in between. He only came around when a tenant’s rent was due. So anytime he came around, tenants whose rents were due usually had their hearts in their hands because of fear of being thrown out; he wouldn’t waste time doing that. He cleared his throat loudly when I just stood there looking at him, my mind very far away. “Good afternoon sir.” “Afternoon. How are you?” “I’m fine.” I answered without much interest. I was tired of being asked that question over and over again. “I heard what happened.
- Writer
