The Weight of the Rifle
Mike Donovan woke up the way he always woke up now: with his back stiff and his mouth dry and the ceiling of his studio apartment slowly coming into focus like a photograph developing in reverse. He lay there for a moment, staring at the water stain on the ceiling that looked like a map of a country that didn't exist, and tried to remember if he'd dreamed last night. He couldn't remember. He...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeld