His eyes adjusted, and he saw a little white statue on the sill, some Greek god or athlete. Beyond that was a couch that looked like a giant pin-cushion from the 1920s, and next to that a polished wooden table with leaves and vines carved into its legs. On the table was a little painting in a gold frame, propped up against a stack of books. It was a picture of a place he knew: the place where the river bends in Easter Park.
--from "Sleep" (by me), which originally appeared in The 13th Story
Thursday, May 30, 2013
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