The Golden Cellar
The light in the cellar had a weight to it, a golden viscosity that coated the rotting foundation stones of the house at thirty-one of NineElm Crossing. Andre Lambert remembered the smell of the sea fret before he remembered the pain in his father’s chest, a thick, salted fog that erased the town of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence until only the house remained, standing like a tooth in a rotting jaw. He...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews