The Melting 24

The whistle of Sirius

It was only a twenty minute walk from my hotel to the Pasternak, but as usual I lingered here and there, shuffling through the leaves, noticing things I hadn’t before. There was a dark bunny, though not as dark as Donnie Darko’s bunny, that seemed to appear from nowhere, and steps that lead to a graffiti embellished compound, followed by rows of dwellin…

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