The Golden Visit
The fog does not merely sit upon the city; it possesses it, a thick, gray velvet that swallows the gaslights and erases the sharp edges of the cobblestones, turning the familiar streets into a labyrinth of wet shadows and indistinct silhouettes where the air tastes of coal smoke and old, damp wool, and you stand in the center of this suspended world, the sole occupant of a silence so profound...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews