‘Where are all the real men?’ she asked me, her eyes glassy with gin. I could see him in their wetness, a memory she clung to like a wish never shared. He’ll come back. It was all over her expression. He’ll come back.
Advertisements
‘Where are all the real men?’ she asked me, her eyes glassy with gin. I could see him in their wetness, a memory she clung to like a wish never shared. He’ll come back. It was all over her expression. He’ll come back.
