Dondog (excerpt)


The tin can rolled across the grimy tiles of the hallway. Dondog barely grazed it, with his left foot, I think, yet there it rolled. The thick cover of darkness made it impossible to know if it was a can of beer or of Coke. Empty, light, the tin cylinder followed its noisy course then stopped, no doubt because it had come up against heavier, grimier trash.

Read Article On Muse