“You are not a tool,” she said.
And somewhere in a sunlit studio, a woman with charcoal-stained fingers smiled and began to paint the answer.
“The shape of the silence after a train leaves the station.”
“You are not a tool,” she said.
And somewhere in a sunlit studio, a woman with charcoal-stained fingers smiled and began to paint the answer.
“The shape of the silence after a train leaves the station.”