She was walking towards the door. Nothing but the sound of her footsteps, on the hallway of her building, was disturbing the bliss of the morning. She turned the key into the lock and a door screak later, she was inside. Her clothes were all over the place; on the table, on the floor, on the stereo and even on the coffee pot she forgot to put into the kitchen sink last night. She was alone. What...
Day 28 – Literary vomit (The girl made of glass)
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