The Wistful Campus
The rain had not stopped for three days. It slicked the cobblestones of the old district into black mirrors, reflecting the neon bleed of the liquor stores and the grey, indifferent faces of the men who walked them. You stood by the window of the precinct, a man who had worn the badge so long it had begun to feel like a second skin, tight and suffocating. Your hand rested on the cold steel of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen