The Wistful Skyline
The engine of the moving truck ticked and shuddered, a rhythmic thrumming against the dashboard that I counted like stitches in a torn hem, one, two, three, a pause that stretched too long, then another beat that felt like a misstep. I had been driving for four hours, the odometer climbing past the six hundred mark, and the weight of the silence in the cab was heavier than the crates of my old...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews