The Faded Dust
You are standing in the back of your father’s shop, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and old brass, a smell that has seeped into the very grain of the wooden shelves and the dust motes dancing in the single shaft of afternoon light that cuts through the high, dusty window. It is a small town, a place where the streets are narrow enough that the neighbors’ voices carry from porch...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 1 مشاهدة 0 معاينة