The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the streets of London into slick, black mirrors, reflecting nothing but the weary faces of those who hurried to shelter. I stood on the platform at King’s Cross, my coat damp at the shoulders, watching the departure board flicker its indifferent red lights. We were leaving. Not in the dramatic, cinematic way of old...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση