The Jacket
He found the jacket on a rainy Thursday, folded over the low wall that separated the street from Mama Sonto’s yard. It was a sensible jacket, dark, a little frayed at the cuff, with a name stitched on the inside: M. Khumalo. Sipho paused, keys in hand, staring at the neat seam of the name as if it might explain something. The jacket smelled faintly of …………
virginiasetshedi –
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
KaziMwangi –
Good helping thank you