The Golden Myth
The first thing I noticed about the jacket was the way it held its shape, a rigid architecture of wool that seemed to resist the damp air of the station. It was a deep, bruised purple, the kind of color that suggests something internal, something bruised and swollen, and it hung on the rack in the lost and found like a promise that had been broken and then glued back together with invisible...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews