The Wistful Incense
The banquet was loud. It was a celebration of the firm’s fifty-year anniversary. The chandeliers in the Grand Hall of St. Jude’s burned with a cold, white ferocity. They cut through the haze of cigar smoke and perfume. I sat at the long table near the window. The glass was thick. It muffled the city noise outside. I held a glass of sherry. It was warm in my hand. My name is Elias. I am a...
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