The Dragon in the Alley
The rain in Chinatown doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker, turns the alleys into mirrors that reflect nothing worth seeing. I was closing up the shop when the package arrived. No return address, no postmark. Just my name—Jack Morretti—scrawled in ink so dark it looked like dried blood. The wrapping was brown paper, the kind you'd use to wrap a body. Inside, nestled in...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare