My Stepson Is a Bully
I asked, or more like said, since it was more of a fact than a question.
“You're not bad,” He commended with the slightest of grins.
“No, actually, it says so here,” I said, pointing in front of a sign that read, flight to Raleigh—the capital city of North Carolina.
“Oh,” He noted.
He walked through the mini gates, and I tailed closely behind him.
“I already booked the flight,” He continued in his monologue on random facts.
“Meet the officer in that building and collect your visa and passport. As you know, everything was rushed so you have to pay double. Plus, I'll still have to clear up your tracks, you know.” He said, coming to a halt in front of me.
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