The Distant Crown
The rain hits the window with a sound like static. You are twelve. You are shaking. Your hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel of the rusted Honda Civic, though the car is parked in the gravel lot behind the community center. The engine is off. The headlights cut two weak cones into the gray afternoon. You are not driving. You are waiting. The noise inside the building is a low...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews