I decide there are no worthy conversations and sit in a book store to pass my time. I dont pick up a book, i just observe what other people are reading. My entire current existance is basically listening and observing. A small girl is dragging her fathers hand to the picture books as i once did to my mother.A woman walks by the cooking section and grabs a book on cakes. i sigh at the lack of interesting people in the world.
You see im not just looking for anything. Im looking for a certain he who shall not be named. Or even a hint of his whereabouts. I dont care if my mother didnt love me, this man killed her and that was supposed to be my job.
