- Joined
- Apr 17, 2011
Alex stood over the oak table, sipping coffee as he leaned over the sturdiness that was his dining room table. He still had his work-suit on from hours ago, finally taking off the tie, sighing as he watches the events of a massacre in second-world country. "Tragic," he says, looking at the clock on the stove. His daughter will be home soon, and he would gaze outside his window like usual; he wanted to make sure she wasn't talking to some trashy, jerky guy. She was his little girl, even if she was about sixteen. He removed his black suit-jacket, and unbuttoned his collar of his white dress shirt, smiling as his daughter would walk in the door, holding his broad arms upon for his daughter to hug him. Well, he hoped she would.