Tuesday, January 29, 2008

There was a leather-bound book in his lap which looked old and well worn; the spine and covers were cracked and sand dry. The pages were course to the touch, and produced a raw scraping sound if you brushed your hand along them. The man was a careful reader. He turned a thick page slowly, marked his place with a yellow ribbon, and closed the book. Placing it on a small, intricately carved oak stand beside the chair, he rose and plodded to the door.

1 comment:

Jerry said...

Waiting for some grue and bleen with baited breath.