The Golden Downtown
The stone under your fingernails is cool and damp, a constant, wet whisper against the skin of your hands as you scrub the grout of the throne room floor, a task that has defined the last three decades of your life, a rhythm so ingrained it has replaced your heartbeat, your breath, your very sense of self, reducing you to a tool, a pair of hands that knows only the texture of ancient limestone...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu