As I sit here in front of this laptop computer preparing to draft the story that had unfolded around me over the last week, I have a tough time knowing where to start. I never wanted to draft a novel, or anything for that matter. I was a reluctant high school graduate, and I was not exactly encouraged along to finish either. My English skills are not great, and I learned more about the English language over that same week than I had all the years before them. No, I had no initiative aside from taking care of my son, in this little rat-hole of a town about twenty minutes outside of Wichita, and not even placed prominently on any map. Many would say when you find Wichita you are lost, but Atkins Green, named after a yet another field of nothing out here in the Midwest means you are even more lost than Wichita. This is why I never really cared much about my place in the world. I worked, I took care of my son, I got by, and as I start this tale at the beginning of my ordeal, I should ...
The place where Jeremy Crow places his stuff.