The air itself
January 8, 2016Across the river rose the steel and glass containers of all those colder lives. She marched along the opposite bank, the sun at her back, refusing to look over there, where no one was friendly. Once, she had been one of them, nails painted a cool shade, hair precisely bobbed. But one night, she raised a glass at a dinner party and it shattered in her hand, as if the air itself had grown too hard. She knew had to leave immediately, and she left a trail of blood on the brushed concrete floor as she departed.
100 Proof 
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