- Reads 28
- Votes 0
- Parts 3
- Time 10m
Ongoing, First published Sep 30, 2015
Mature
He was presumed dead in his office. My father, the drunken writer, is never going to tell me a story of his again. I'm crushed. And now I'm writing an obituary, in the withered house, with a ferret that only sleeps.All Rights Reserved
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