The Pale Bridge
You are standing at the edge of the precipice, where the asphalt dissolves into the grey, mist-shrouded valley of the Institution, a place that exists simultaneously in the municipal maps and in the collective, feverish dream of everyone who has ever felt the cold, indifferent weight of a form they cannot fill, a line they cannot cross, a door that will not open because the key is made of paper...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews