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Weekly Contest #113
It's cold and rough, and his stride is hurried because he knows that at the end of the aisle, on the right, life awaits him. Barefoot on the tiles, he feels the cream streaks under every step. He never touched the wooden slats on the sides, but he knows they are fine and the wood should not be like this. Take a step to the side to avoid the wheelchair. His gaze is aimed at the final destination, which does not prevent him from noticing, with the corner of his eye, the round white clock on the wall: three thirty, as always. The white, sliding...
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