author:<Mobile mailbox&g
state:in the series
profile:
The ceiling fan whirred feebly, emitting a grating groan as it struggled to turn. Pushing open the door, Heather's gaze fell upon the figure behind the counter.,His portly belly strained against his soiled, floral-patterned shirt, while his face was covered in a tangle of white whiskers like tangled electrical wires. His sparse hair, barely enough to count on one hand, failed to conceal his shiny scalp. Coupled with his textbook-perfect beer gut, this short, stout old man's first impression wasn't exactly charming.,Jack's father yawned, his short, thick fingers waving towards the shelves.。