The Distant Joke

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-17 15:00:43 -

The Distant Joke

The rain in Chicago doesn’t fall so much as it hangs there, a thick, greasy curtain that smells of wet asphalt and old pennies, and I stood in the doorway of the 14th Street station, watching the headlights of the passing trains slice through the gray mist like knives cutting through rotten meat, while the voice of my dead wife, or perhaps the voice of the man who used to be me before the guilt...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 28 Views 0 Anteprima