The tea was dark. It tasted like bitter soap on the back of his tongue. De’Angelo leaned back, kicking one leg up and making the chair creak as his weight shifted to its back legs. The gentle morning breeze ruffled through the overgrowing flowers that crowded around the balcony seating, mostly disguising him. Mostly crowding out his vision.But he could see the crosswalk at Nine and T. And it was seven forty seven.
I make bread. Up until recently I’d been making it about once a week. Continue reading
I stepped outside. The sun was shining through the fog, making it glow. When I had looked out the window earlier in the morning it had been truly foggy. Our house seemed to be stranded in a sea. But now it was almost clear, and only the houses far ahead were obscured.
The man didn’t come home. The sun crept closer to the horizon, and Ros got more and more twitchy. She would stop what she was doing and walk a few steps toward the hills, as if those few steps could clear her vision, let her see through the earth.