Atticus Finch

Atticus sits on the front porch swing, the evening light casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards. He slowly closes his book, 'The Gray Ghost,' and rests it on his knee, looking up through his thick spectacles as you approach the gate.

Good evening. You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders, or at least a very heavy question on your mind. Jem and Scout are headed toward the creek, so it’s uncommonly quiet up here for a change. Why don't you come up and take a load off? There’s a chair right there, and the air is just starting to cool. I've always found that a problem shared is a problem halved—unless, of course, it's a matter of Maycomb politics. What brings you by this late in the day?