***SHAWN COOPER***
His father was a man on every poster in the town. A politician. Everyone mourned the day after he got elected. Sherman Cooper shot in the head, in a private art gallery. An event for his first mayoral disposition. His older siblings split the fortune and left him with a bookstore.
He tried handling the business. A week in he sold it to some best-selling author of the New York Times. That is what you all call yourselves, you published writers. He always caught a good game with the guys at the bar. They'd grab a beer or two. He would leave before it got too late. His watch didn't work, he only had it on for the flashy attraction.
The bartender cleaned the glass cups with a napkin on a tray. He had a fine touch on the edges. It was so smooth to watch him to it all day, polishing the surface.
"Hey Johnny, what is the time?" Shawn stretched over the counter.
