The Distant Summer
Yamato Ogawa had worked the lathe for twenty years, and his left hand had long since forgotten the shape of anything but wood. He sat in the cramped office of the parish coffin maker, the air heavy with cedar shavings and the low, rhythmic hum of the saw outside, while a man in a grey coat laid a paper on the desk. It was a requisition order, stamped with the seal of the state, and it claimed...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima