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Shortlisted for Contest #239 ⭐️
‘The Pilgrimage is going through the city centre tomorrow.’ It’s evening and I’m leaning back in my chair, denim-clad legs stretched out, heels resting on the kitchen table. I like sitting like this, thinking and not really thinking, smoking and staring at the mould creeping out from the corner of the ceiling. You get what you pay for I suppose. The flat is dense with the warm stench of cigarettes and turmeric. Victor stands over the hob in that stupid apron he insists on wearing while making dinner and I realise he’s speaking. ‘Oh...
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