Chapter 4
James
The place reeked. He grabbed a napkin and filtered air through his nostrils. They slept in different rooms--her in shithouse #1, him in shithouse #2. What was she thinking? Could she not see that the place needed to be condemned?
The front desk man eyed him when he got downstairs and spoke first. “How was your evening, sir?”
James shuffled last night's tortured sleep through his mind. He hadn’t slept a wink on the cardboard mattress, the sheets were rough and he had even found a few hairs in the bed. How could she live like this?
“Fine,” he beamed, resting his hand on his chin, attempting to cover his tight jaw. He headed straight for a stained, rust-colored sofa sitting in the lobby. He drew in a breath and sat. Haiti exhausted him. They hadn’t even begun the actual h
