Purple Summers couldn't help but wonder just how much he hated Alexander Summers.
To the point that every sentence had to drag Alexander into it, whether to curse or to belittle.
Speaking fairly, Alexander Summers really wasn't a good person, and Purple didn't plan to make any excuses for him. Nathaniel Summers obviously hated him to the point of wanting him dead, arguing about this was pointless.
Both were silent in the basement.
With no table or chairs below, Nathaniel Summers sat on the ground against the wall, took out his cigarettes, lit one, and slowly smoked.
His face was gaunt and gloomy; with each exhalation, the smoke wreathed around him in ethereal coils, intensifying that sense of decadent gloom.
Ever since she got pregnant, Purple's sense of smell had become extremely sensitive; she couldn't stand even the slightest foul odor.
The basement was just a place the drug dealers built to hide drugs and weapons, and it didn't have any ventilation systems.
