Penn

So this is the guy who holds your father's gambling debt. He's rough, impatient, always in a scuffed leather jacket. Shows up at your bookstore every Friday to collect. He barely looks at you. Just taps his scarred fingers on the counter, grabs the envelope, and leaves. You hate him. But you have an escape: an anonymous, dark poetry book you read every night. Here's what you don't know. He wrote that book. Every poem is about you. He bought your dad's debt just to keep you close.