Chet raised the collar of his windbreaker around his neck to block out the cool night wind, his steps quick and determined as he walked through the parking lot toward the distant lights. Entering the building through the ornate doors, he brushed past people hurrying out as he hurried in.

He moved through the mass of people, an undulating human wave surging past him, impatience etched on their faces without so much as a glance in his direction, as if he were invisible. In a lot of ways he felt invisible. He had been invisible in prison, just another guy with a number on his back, he thought bitterly.

As the days of his incarceration had turned into years, Chet yearned for the freedom of the outside world where he could reclaim his identity and once again be his own man, accountable to no one. But being the invisible man also had its advantages. In his new line of work he needed to blend into his surroundings; the fewer people who could remember his face, the better.

People rushed around him, each on his...



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A post about the document they call the postnuptial agreement

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