The Pale Tower
The rain on the train window was not falling so much as it was being erased, each droplet a tiny, fleeting eye blinking out of existence before it could reach the glass, and you watched this slow dissolution with the detached, clinical interest of a man who has long since ceased to expect the world to hold its shape, your reflection a pale, ghostly overlay on the gray landscape rushing past, a...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima