Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

heavy gold signet ring tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the dark wood of the sill.

Donald sat directly beside me, his shoulders hunched forward as he pulled his wool tie from his collar and began polishing his spectacles with the blue flannel tip.

Sarah sat on my other side, her fingers moving in a frantic, ceaseless rhythm as she twisted her silver continue reading …