A Work of Fiction
He didn’t want this job, but he had no choice. The notes came to him and only him. If he threw them out, they returned the next day. Always in the same place.
He was no one special. A 34-year-old low-grade attorney with his shingle out and no expectations to speak of. Single. Lonely. Socially insecure. He had no idea how these became his tasks. His mission.