The Wistful Incense
I left the badge on the desk. It lay there, a silver disc catching the gray light of the office. I did not look at it. I looked at my hands. They were shaking. Not from cold. From the weight of what I had just done. The air in the precinct smelled of stale coffee and floor wax. It was a sterile smell. A smell of nothing. I had spent twenty years breathing it in. Twenty years chasing ghosts...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen