The Distant Metropolis
The taste of copper and stale bread is the first thing you remember, thick in your mouth as if you have been chewing on a penny and a heel of sourdough since the moment the order came down, an order that felt less like a command and more like a surgical incision into the soft tissue of your conscience, slicing through the familiar, comforting rot of your daily routine to expose the raw, pulsing...
0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews