They built it in polished light. Marble without residue. Doors that closed cleanly. His desk faced intake. A girl becomes a coordinate. He writes it...
She landed the six-stair on a Tuesday in late February. No fanfare. No audience. Just her and the stairs and the hotdog board that had become weirdly...
He did the coat up to the throat, though the cold had stopped reaching him a long while back, and carried his hat in his hand, because the hat in the...