there was a gentle knock at the door. that meant Bryan was outside knocking. he had a gentle way about himself. he didn’t understand the world that he lived in. hell, no one really understood the world anymore.
Carl stood up from his chair where he’d been drinking his morning coffee and reading the newspaper. a ritual. a way of life. a way to get through life.
he opened the door and let Bryan in. they exchanged simple pleasantries. Carl and Bryan had known each other for years. fifteen, to be exact. they had met as new hires in at the Bradley House, a home for the broken. teens beaten, mothers on drugs, fathers displaced for various reasons (none good). Carl was an electrician, Bryan a janitor.