Seven Crumpled Dollar Bills on a Pine Table in Michigan

gray autumn sky.

“He seemed different today,” Sarah said, her fingers tracing the edge of her wrist brace.

“We will see,” Mike said.

***

The clubhouse smelled of stale coffee and cold leather when Mike walked in at two in the afternoon.

Shark sat at the long pine table, his wire-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he turned a page of a yellow continue reading …