BREN
I was sitting in my truck, parked outside Cain University’s gymnasium. The windows were down. A slight breeze wafting through, mixing with a slight mingling smell of someone’s bonfire, sweat, and garbage. I glanced over. The dumpster in the corner of the lot was overfilling. My guess, it hadn’t been picked up on last week’s rotation. Or maybe over the last month. Either that or there’d been a party in the parking lot over the weekend.
Option two was more viable, now that I thought about it. Knowing the students on this campus and what they were capable of, definitely option two.
“What’s up, Brennie Bren?”
I had not even one second to swear, raise the window, or just simply have a knife ready and poised. Not that I needed it, but I wanted it, solely on the principle that Zeke Allen
