He was tall and lean. His dark curly hair handed down from his mother; “God rest her soul”. With a heavy sigh, he wraps the food-stained apron around his waist. He loathed this place: the counter, the stove, the constant smell of grease. The diner and its associated debt originally belonged to his dead parents.
The office of Financial Affairs had no sympathy for late payments. Family debt had to paid on time or face the consequences. The wolves were already knocking at the door. He considered running away from it all but his younger brother was still tagged as a commodity. His location could be traced.