He stared at the blank canvas again. She waited, leaning onto the worn-out balls of her feet, exhausted from another shift at the diner, recalling a time when he would cover canvases with stories that instantly transported her—not only to there, but away from here.
This was some bad karma, she was sure of it. It was her decision then, and now, looking at his frail back and trembling hands, she was the worst kind of alone. She raised a hand that reeked of garlic. Chicken soup again, but he wouldn’t remember.
Then, he turned to her and smiled.
This was some bad karma, she was sure of it. It was her decision then, and now, looking at his frail back and trembling hands, she was the worst kind of alone. She raised a hand that reeked of garlic. Chicken soup again, but he wouldn’t remember.
Then, he turned to her and smiled.
