The Distant Garden
The train was late, as everything in this city seemed to be. I stood on the platform, my breath misting in the cold November air, watching the rusted tracks stretch out into the gray distance. I was here to find the body. Or rather, to confirm that there was a body at all. The police report had been vague, a standard boilerplate for a case that had gone cold twenty years ago. A missing person....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen