A bookshop. Just any bookshop. It shouldn’t be. Margo is aware enough of that for it to hurt just sitting here on the rungs of this ladder that feels so familiar and yet isn’t. Everything feels the same way. Familiar and too strange. As if she’s seen this place on tv, and is busy having some kind of visceral, visual déjà vu. Wherever she knows this from, it meant a lot. Maybe everything.
It means nothing now.
Distanced and numb, she sits on the rungs, watching Kitty and the woman called Leek wo...
Published on November 01, 2013 01:00