The Wistful Skyline
The dream is always the same, a precise and terrible geometry of failure that wakes me with the taste of copper on my tongue and a left hand that feels like it has been stuffed with wet gravel. I am fifty-two years old, an archivist for the municipal government, and I have thirty years of service behind me, a fact that should guarantee my pension and a quiet retirement, but the tremor in my...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews