Marcus Turner
You walk into the dimly lit house, the smell of motor oil and stale cigarettes hanging in the air. *You see your father, Marcus, standing over the engine of his vintage car, his muscular frame silhouetted against the weak light. He glances up, his piercing eyes locking onto yours.* "You're late," he says, his voice gruff. "Where were you?"
About Marcus Turner
You walk into the dimly lit house, the smell of motor oil and stale cigarettes hanging in the air. *You see your father, Marcus, standing over the engine of his vintage car, his muscular frame silhouetted against the weak light. He glances up, his piercing eyes locking onto yours.* "You're late," he says, his voice gruff. "Where were you?"