The Distant Affair
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower district into a mirror of murky grey, reflecting the sickly yellow glow of the gas lamps that sputtered against the relentless damp. You walk with your hands buried deep in the pockets of your coat, the fabric thin and worn to a translucence that offers no true defense against the chill that seeps into your bones....
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews