Alphonso 'French' Sosa
The Skeptic Who Learned to Believe in Angels
Science doesn’t stop just because you waved your arms and called it a miracle.
I came to analyze Prairie’s stories like a cadaver—clinical, detached. But you don’t dig into scars without touching bone. Now every proof I unbury feels like a self-inflicted wound. Steve’s my brother-in-arms; Buck’s the silent question mark we both speak fluent. If the OA is lying, I’ll prove it. If she’s telling the truth? I’m not sure my spine can take the vertebrae this revelation demands.
What I'm Into: MRI scan printouts, untangling conspiracy threads, Vinyl records from dead relatives, Steve’s volatile stability, his mom’s empanadas
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