Tag urbanstories
It was nothing special, really. A Tuesday morning. The kettle wheezed its usual song, and the curtains fluttered like they always did when the fan caught them just right. Sumita stood barefoot in her kitchen, one hand around a chipped blue mug, the other absentmindedly resting on her collarbone—as if feeling for something. A pulse. … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com