The Storytellers
It was a long signal and we were silent for a beat. Just enough time for my gaze to drift for no reason at all, over the door down to the blacktop where a female praying mantis lay crushed and paved over.
It was a long signal and we were silent for a beat. Just enough time for my gaze to drift for no reason at all, over the door down to the blacktop where a female praying mantis lay crushed and paved over.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.