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the din of the afternoon traffic. Bystanders moved away from the trouble; in the rough neighborhood of Hamilton Heights, you kept your head down and your eyes shut if you wanted to make it home alive. The junkie yanked on the woman’s
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“a discomforting feeling like she was being watched consumed her. Troubled, she kept her eye on her destination and picked up the pace. The brittle winter air scratched against her skin like sandpaper, chilling her to the core. She pulled the scarf around her neck a bit tighter, burrowed her face into it, and kept going. Almost there.”
― Gone Daddy Gone
― Gone Daddy Gone
mani’s 2025 Year in Books
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