The Faded Quadrant
The air in the sterile white room tasted of ozone and old copper, a flavor that had settled into my sinuses so deeply over the last decade that I could no longer distinguish it from the scent of my own aging skin, which had begun to thin like parchment in the damp corners of the institution. I sat alone at the heavy oak desk, the one that had been here since the building was a municipal archive...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen