The Pale Verdict
The coffee is cold. You taste the metallic tang of it, a sharp bite on the tongue that reminds you of copper wire. You do not drink it. You stir the sugar in the white mug, watching the cubes dissolve, turning the liquid into a pale, opaque slurry. It sits on the table between us. It does not move. It is always there. It has been three days since you arrived. The apartment is small. The walls...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6 Visualizações 0 Anterior