What was I thinking?
That is the question that continues to plague my mind as I walk around the small park. I'm supposed to appear homeless, suffering from my everyday life, struggling to simply eat and enjoy a moment long enough to sleep for a short time. Mick's plan is a scary one, one that is not planned out or precautioned enough to work, but I don't hold the cards, I'm barely seated at the damn table.
Bronson Fortworth.
That is the new plan, that is Mick's newest grand scheme.
And I'm supposed to play the ticket that leads the bandits right to his front door. I hate this absent anger I suddenly have for the man that realistically saved mine and Brody's life, but I can't help but wonder if Mick simply sees us all as expendable.
Sitting down on the cold cemented concrete that wraps
