The Wistful Show
The button was loose, a small brass eye staring out from the left lapel of my tunic, and I spent the first ten minutes of the night shift trying to keep it from catching on the velvet rope that separated the lobby from the service corridor, my fingers trembling with a weight that wasn’t there, a phantom heaviness in the air that made every movement feel like wading through cold honey. I am...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews