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ksmithFrom a short story I'm working on, title tbd:
I watched her walk away. Music poured out of doorways and passersby’s voices pressed from all sides and through it all the Stream continued to jabber and I told myself that I had misunderstood, that she couldn’t have said what I thought she said. She wore brown and black, slivers of dark consumed by the Friday night brightness, like bits of wood by a flame.
I watched her walk away. Music poured out of doorways and passersby’s voices pressed from all sides and through it all the Stream continued to jabber and I told myself that I had misunderstood, that she couldn’t have said what I thought she said. She wore brown and black, slivers of dark consumed by the Friday night brightness, like bits of wood by a flame.
