The Faded Masquerade
Chapter One Could the weight of a thing be measured in years? Nune Beridze, fifty-eight, asked the question aloud as he hauled the crate up the stairs of the shanty town, the air heavy with wet limestone and cheap tobacco. He was a piano mover by trade, a job that required a back like an iron gate and a silence that could hold a heavy object without trembling. Today, the object was not a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews