The Golden Greenhouse

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-21 20:50:54 -

The bus smelled of wet wool and old coffee. It was a smell that had seeped into the upholstery years ago, becoming part of the fabric itself. I sat in the back, watching the rain streak the window. The city outside was a blur of grey stone and black umbrellas. My hands were in my pockets. I was counting my steps. One, two, three. Four. The bus lurched. I counted again. One, two, three. The...

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