The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a pervasive, gray suspension that blurred the boundary between the stone walls of the solitary confinement cell and the wet, rotting world outside, creating a singular, suffocating atmosphere where the air was thick with the scent of mildew and old blood, a smell that had seeped into the very grain of the wood and the pores of the skin, so that...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen