The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-16 11:59:44 -

The Wistful Petal

The coat was red. It was a violent red. A color that did not belong in a place of gray linoleum and fluorescent hum. It hung on my arm like a dead bird. I had bought it with money I did not have. I had stolen it from a rack in a shop that was closed. The glass was broken. The alarm had been cut. I did not feel like a thief. I felt like a man who had found a key to a door he had always been...

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