"I saw her face twitch as I spoke. She smelled of the stale sweat of travel, of the rich green of sleeping on grass, of the slick of oil on her lips from the roti and sabzi she had eaten before sleeping. I kissed her once. A chill ran across my neck as I did, because she reminded me so much of someone gone." /From The Devourers, by Indra Das
— Jun 12, 2018 01:15PM
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