A NEWFOUND PLACE

PROSE BY KENNEDI FORSYTHE

“Do you understand, Stillinghall?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, good. There’s a tailor’s shop a couple of blocks from here. Pick out something nice and don’t make a ruckus.”

“Good Lord, he’s loaded.”

My head was spinning as I made my way towards it. A giant mansion, some four or five stories. Four columns holding up the weight of this gray giant. Light beaming from the many windows that dotted its face. Neatly trimmed hedges, not a twig out of place. A giant driveway crowded with people, their high heels and polished shoes filling the warm June night with sound.

Click, clack my shoes went as I joined the crowd.

I straightened my suit and ran a hand through my hair. God, when was the last time I wore a suit? I tugged at the collar straining my neck and pushed my way closer to the