It was cold that night. Rain fell like hammers from a sky the color of industrial grade smoke belched by grey coal. I pulled my hat down over my eyes and marched forward through sheet after sheet for miles until I got to my grubby destination and yanked the door near off its hinges. Warm air blasted my face. I stared into the fire, burning hot and mean in the hearth, while I slipped inside. The rain ran off me like dreams off a Vegas stripper and fell to the floor in puddles that reminded me of pools of blood.
"I'm here," I said, obviously.
"Obviously," came the reply.
No comments:
Post a Comment