Finnegan
"Woe is me, for a dazzling jewel has slipped from my grasp."
The sun hung high over the golf course, casting shadows across the field. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass, cologne, and the faint hint of whiskey from the flasks we carried.
It was Saturday morning, and the only reason I was here listening to Eric lamenting in poetry instead of having enjoying some quality time with Abigail was that she was on a girls' day out with my daughter and cousin.
I would have preferred to stay home and finish up my readings on the reports from the finance and engineering team, but my dear cousin had called Henry and blabbed that I would be home alone, and here I was.
"Eric, eat your sandwich, son. She wasn't meant for you." Arthur patted his son's back awkwardly and shoved a sandwich into his mouth to shut him up.
