My lawyer, a poor, cheap man who wore little and knew little, knocked on the door of my run-down apartment with a forlorn expression slicked across his plasticine face. "Are you Mr. Frauk?" He pulled out a card, offered his rubber-gloved hands, but I refused. He offered it again, but I pushed it away and smiled in false respect. "Mr. Frauk?", the lawyer repeated in his ancient German accent. "Frank", I paused, and beckoned him in, "My name is Frank. What is this about?" "Mr... Frauk", his lips curled as he grimaced to pronounce my name," Frauk, Frank, Frauk... Nonetheless, I'm here because of a recent uncle of your kin. If I remember him properly, his name is Drew Trijark." "Trark", I repeated, but in a different accent, mocking him somewhat. "Trark, Trijark, Trark... But what I wanted to talk to you about is his inheritance", my lawyer paused as if in sadness and contemplation, turned away, hiding his
A series of books, stories, that I've made on the internet and spread around somewhat, that I'm trying to gather right here, right now in this current blog location. Some of these stories are genuine trash, but some of the stuff is interesting, sometimes alluring... Maybe...