A Fistful of Sand Book 1Chapter 18 The Price of Friendship
Deuce sat at his favorite table at the campus coffee shop he frequented ... well, frequented over the past few months anyway. He wore the same black trench coat as always, and was scribbling away on his yellow legal pad as always. Sitting back, he brushed his scraggly, oily black hair out of his face, which always seemed to fall into his line of site. 'Always... ' he thought to himself. 'It's always the same.' Taking a break from writing, he contemplated his appearance, scratching at...