“Hi, there I thought that was you,” Jon Taylor greets me with his fake as f*ck but wide, bright and warm to others who did not know him personally. His casual pants, green short-sleeved shirt and shoes portrayed his willingness to be out to explore our privacy as he’s not even in sportswear. His crooked nose must have been punched out by someone in the past, I’m almost certain. He looks like a leech to me but my father seems to think he is ‘one of the good ones’ when he’d informed me of the invitation, he’d extended to him some weeks ago.
And yes, he has a bag hanging from a long strap on his shoulder and a camera around his neck. My nostrils twitch in distaste when he stretches his hand out to me but his eyes are on Damian. I take his hand in mine and plaster the same fake smile on my fa
