The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-21 15:38:48 -

The Wistful Petal

The soup was cold. It had been sitting in the bowl for an hour, a congealed gray lake in the center of the table. I did not eat. I looked at the clock. It said four o'clock. It always said four o'clock. "Is it done?" I asked. The man across from me shrugged. He wore a suit that cost more than my car. His tie was red. A bright, arterial red. "It is done," he said. "The file is closed." "Who...

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