The Chapel feels like home; sounds weird, doesn't it? I'm not even religious like that.
The stained glass windows are always in the back of my mind when I'm not here. The crooked cross outside, the metal staircase, all these new cops I don't know – it all feels like home. Even when Hanson and Penhall poke fun at each other, and Ioki joins them; when Judy laughs, and Fuller calls them kids.
This is home.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 3
Poetrythird poem collection. they aren't in any particular order or anything like that, and after 100, there will always be a new one. if you've been here a while, I'm sure you know the drill. now, about the cover. it was a random Thursday, and an old fri...
