Mr. Keeley? How are you feeling today?" an old man in a crisp black blazer asked bending over to a curled up figure.
The holding room was dark, musty and had a layer of dust on every horizontal and vertical surface thick enough for smurfs to make sand castles. His shiny silver hair was gelled back into his skull, and the obnoxious smell of his after shave was completely throwing off the ambience of the dingy cell.
"Mr. Keeley, would like some coffee?" he continued to take a step towards him as he stretched out the paper cup in his hand to the person rolled up on himself in the corner of the room. The guy looked up and smiled, taking the cup. "Thanks," came a gruff voice from the insomniac mess.
"I'm Knightley, Damon Knightley. I'm your lawyer. Would you like to tell me what exactly went down at the jetty last night?" He patiently presented himself to the disheveled man who refused to stand up or sit down. Khaki shorts and grey t-shirt hung wryly over the sweaty young man, the red check shirt soiled and crumpled beyond repair did little to improve his appeal.
YOU ARE READING
Kinetic
Science FictionDo you ever wake up to this feeling of falling over a cliff? Feeling the contents of your insides floating up against your chest, trying to force themselves out of the sink hole of your mouth? Have you ever experienced this sudden loss of dream memo...
