Two Frequencies at the Same Table
They were eating the same soup, but they were not tasting the same thing. They had not tasted the same thing in thirty years, and Victor had only just realized it. The soup was a chicken-and-rice, the kind that had been simmering on the back of the stove since 4:30 that morning, the kind that Victor's wife Elena made every Sunday without consulting a recipe. It was yellow from turmeric,...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 4 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση