Part 3

A continuing of my two previous posts:

“Help you find anything, sir?” William looked at the old man behind the counter, “No, no, just going to browse. Thank you though.” He spent hours, countless hours just walking around. Staying till they were closing, he bought just one book. A handwritten journal. It had no dates, and was written in French, a language he did not know, but he had to have it. His mom had taught him French, but like everything about his life with her in it, he could not remember it. He would find someone to help him translate it, but tomorrow he thought. He was getting tired. Getting directions to his apartment, he started walking that way. A small apartment, overlooking a river. Apparently it had been where his mother and he stayed when he was younger. It had been in her family for almost a century, but unused since their last visit. Once he arrived, that was plain to see. Dirt and dust everywhere, and boxes on top of boxes, on top of boxes. This is going to take forever, he thought, “But first, sleep,” he said aloud walking toward the bed. It wasn’t covered that bad. He cleared it off rather quickly, and laid down. His mind drifiting as he was falling asleep. In a city where he knew no one, had no family to call, hell he didn’t even speak the language. Just him, him in his mothers city. He finally dozed off, like he did most nights, trying to remember her.

The place was finally coming together. He felt as though it had been all day. Checking his watch, it read 10:38. “Two and a half hours, is that all?” He was astonished, in under 3 hours he had turned a heap of dust and dirt into something livable. A bed, worn and creaky, even had matching chair and couch. He needed a table, but was excited to have a solid desk. A good desk, not the crappy ones most people had. But a solid wood desk. Maybe he would write again, now that the burden to practice law was off his shoulders. Too bad, since William had been one of the youngest graduates at Harvard Law. 22 and he was a damn good lawyer. His Father had wanted him to be a corporate lawyer for his company. William knew he would never pick the kind of law his Father wanted. Samuel had never specified just what type of law he had to practice. William chose small practice. His Father was repulsed by that, but so was William. Everything about the law, he hated. He hated that law would always be his career, but never his passion. He still had no idea what he was passionate about. He never had time to figure that out for himself. His Father always made those kind of choices for him.

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