To all these clean streets and red buses and bullshit.”He shook his head, eyes narrowed as he glared out the window.“I hate this city,” he said,...very quietly. “Everything it thinks it is. Everything it represents. All these people. Blind. It’s like they’re not even human.”I cleared my throat, trying not to cry.“So why did you come back?”He looked at me. He was sweating.“Don’t ask me that.”I turned away, looked at our living room, sofas and the glass coffee table and books lined up on the period. It was already getting dark and he was still hard at work. He seemed surprised to see me, but he was glad it wasn’t my Dad. “Here you go; looks like you might want these!” I offered him the plate. He took it off me, putting down his sponge. He was so hungry, he didn’t even care that his hands were foamy and wet. The biscuits were gone in seconds. While he was cramming down the biscuits, I got a closer impression of him.He was definitely Asian with jet black hair and equally dark cute eyes. His. More

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