The Golden Greenhouse
The rain hit the asphalt. It drummed. A cold, metallic rhythm. I stood in the alley. Wet. Shivering. My coat was soaked through. I did not care. I cared for the glass. The pane in front of me. A square of frozen light. Green. Not the green of leaves. The green of old money. Of decay. Of something kept alive by force. I pressed my face close. The cold bit my cheeks. I did not pull away. I am a...
0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 2 Views 0 Vista previa