DEVELOPMENT.
SEVEN.
Back against drywall, hands pressed to shoulders.
Too small for a way out.
You never should have been here.
FOURTEEN.
“My momma so dead —”
The laughter helped, didn’t it?
THIRTY-SOMETHING.
I remember everything but your face.
SEVEN.
Back against drywall, hands pressed to shoulders.
Too small for a way out.
You never should have been here.
FOURTEEN.
“My momma so dead —”
The laughter helped, didn’t it?
THIRTY-SOMETHING.
I remember everything but your face.