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Weekly Contest #85
He pulls his shirt over his nose, cringing at the familiar smell of pollution. The skies were gloomy, and cloudy. Sunlight was nowhere to be found. He pushed his fingers to his temples. “Such a wonderful welcome home” he says. He waved down a cab, an old male driver pulled in, looking more impatient every second. The taxi driver looks back at him, clearly confused. “ID?” He had a heavy accent and arrogant tone. New York, the only city in the world that could be so welcoming and brutal at the same time. He pulled his ID out, Wilbur Moore. The...
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