I’ve thought about the future enough to have built a road towards it, pebble after careful pebble, with the blueprint of my years folded inside my pocket. But one day, inevitably, I’ll wake in a funny white room and none of it will matter.
She was an old woman, a regular visitor with a pot tucked beneath her arm and another balanced on her head. A dusky skin clung to the few remaining bones that aging had spared. A white saree brushed her knees, while her walking stick carried a hunch much like her weary back. Her shrill voice Read more…
