The Distant Joke
The rain does not fall so much as it accumulates, a heavy, grey weight pressing against the glass of the cabin, blurring the world outside into a smear of indistinct shapes and muted colors. You are sitting in the corner, your boots unlaced, your uniform damp with sweat rather than rain, and you are trying to remember the face of the man you killed last week, but the image is gone, dissolved...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima