All My Sins

A tar

As always thank you all for the support you've given me and the mercy you've had on me and my inconsistent updating. I love you all!

Paul Rosenburg was a heavy man. Completely bald, the only hair visible on his head was that of his greying beard and bushy eyebrows. Rosenburg sat at his desk in what was overall a very pitiful office building. The walls were lined with outdated wood panelling and the linoleum flooring was beginning to rot yellow and peel at the corners. The air smelled entirely of coffee and room freshener. Everything completely stale and artificial. It was the kind of building that made one forget what fresh air felt like on the skin and in the lungs. At the front desk, there sat an overweight receptionist. A woman with black and grey hair, a white dress with blue and purple flowers cascading down the print. Her name was Paige. And into this drabby little building, walked Denanun Porter. He asked Paige if he might be able to speak with Paul Rosenburg.
It was rare that Paul ever received visitors anymore. Rosenburg was an insurance salesman. He had just enough clients to live a comfortable and average lifestyle. However, at another juncture in his life, Paul had worked in the music industry. In fact, Paul acted as manager to a promising up and coming artist on the road to absolute stardom. It was after some allegations in regards to plagiarism and copyright issues that Paul and his client spiraled downwards along with their reputations and credibility. His work in insurance was a last resort. And this was how Paul Rosenburg ended up drinking multiple cups of instant, lukewarm coffee for hours on end, filing dreary claims, day to day. And this was the man that Denaun came face to face with.

"It's been a long time, Paul." Denanun said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk.
"Indeed it has." Paul said without as much as a glance in Porter's direction. He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a fresh set of forms for what he assumed would be for Denaun.

"So what kind of plan are you looking to get into?" He began his spiel.

"Not looking for any premiums. I'm looking for some of your experience from way back when." Paul pushed his forms to the side and met Porter's eye.

"What is it that you're referring to?"

"You still dabble into the bizz anymore? Still got any contacts with Roy or Stevie?"

"I can't say that I do. It's been about a year since I've even spoken to anyone in the industry. What's this about, Denaun? That's not really my domain anymore." Paul took a sip of his coffee.

Porter reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick stack of papers. He slapped them down onto the desk before Paul.

"What is this?"

"Some notes. Some lyrics. I think you might wanna look over them. Tell me what you think."

"I'm out of the business, Porter. And even so, I've lost most of my connections to the upper level people. I've read your work before as well. And unless you've gone to Julliard and have some New York Philharmonic work on these notes, I'm not interested."

While Paul's insult aggravated Deanun, he kept his mind on the prize and stayed determined.

"It's not mine. It's another artist I been working with. I think you'll wanna take a look at them."

Though Paul believed that nothing written within these papers would change his mind, nonetheless he unfolded them and began to read.
Meanwhile, another day was commencing within the walls of Henry Ford High school.

----
The night before when Maureen had gotten home, the house was completely quiet. All of the lights were out and not even a ceiling fan had been left on to slice through the lonely silence. As she made her way further into the house, she found that a note had been left on the kitchen counter.