The Glove on the Wall
By birksy
I am drawn to the wall opposite. On it sits a glove, so old its colours fading fast. It’s been there at least a week, and still no one has claimed it. Beside it, sits a snail, its shell broken, insides pecked into mush, curiosity for a tatty old glove, the only crime. The sky starts to cloud over, but still the glove sits, and I remember now, the date the time, and I'm able to rise, to cross the road, reach down and take the glove. Take my glove home once more. Written July 27th, 1998 © on Oct 06 2001 12:26 AM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 1
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"I am drawn to the wall opposite...."