The Distant Summer
The rain in the Appenines doesn’t wash things clean; it just makes the dirt slicker, harder to grip. You know this because you’ve been walking for three days, your boots heavy with the clay of the road, and the air smells of wet wool and diesel. You are looking for a house. Not a specific house, not yet, but the idea of a house that stands at the edge of the map, where the paved roads give way...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews