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Victim Statistic1 viewsVictim Statistic
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0 views"He killed my mother," she blurted, then vomited chocolate on the caf?'s gray marble floor.Sally leading her past the columns of Saint Paul's, walking, not talking.Kumiko, in a disjointed trance of shame, registering random information: the white shearling that lined Sally's leather coat, the oily rainbow sheen of a pigeon's feathers as it waddled out of their way, red buses like a giant's toys in the Transport Museum, Sally warming her hands around a foam cup of steaming tea.Cold, it would always be cold now.
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6 viewsKumiko, in a disjointed trance of shame, registering random information: the white shearling that lined Sally's leather coat, the oily rainbow sheen of a pigeon's feathers as it waddled out of their way, red buses like a giant's toys in the Transport Museum, Sally warming her hands around a foam cup of steaming tea.Cold, it would always be cold now.The freezing damp in the city's ancient bones, the cold waters of Sumida that had filled her mother's lungs, the chill flight of the neon cranes.Her mother was fine-boned and dark, the thick spill of her hair grained with gold highlights, like some rare tropical hardwood.
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0 viewsOn our own, right?" "Yes," Kumiko said, her heart still pounding, the panic continuing to rise."He killed my mother," she blurted, then vomited chocolate on the caf?'s gray marble floor.Sally leading her past the columns of Saint Paul's, walking, not talking.Kumiko, in a disjointed trance of shame, registering random information: the white shearling that lined Sally's leather coat, the oily rainbow sheen of a pigeon's feathers as it waddled out of their way, red buses like a giant's toys in the Transport Museum, Sally warming her hands around a foam cup of steaming tea.
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0 viewsGentry stared as Slick stepped through the door into the glare of ten 100- watt bulbs, making sure Slick knew he was another obstacle coming between Gentry and the Shape.He was putting a pair of motorcycle panniers up on his long steel table; they looked heavy.Slick had cut roof panels away, installed struts where needed, covered the holes with sheets of rigid plastic, caulked the resulting skylights with silicone.Then Gentry came in with a mask and a sprayer and twenty gallons of white latex paint; he didn't dust or clean anything, just lay down a thick coat over all the crud and dessicated pigeonshit, sort of glued it all down and painted over it again until it was more or less white.
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0 viewsKumiko, in a disjointed trance of shame, registering random information: the white shearling that lined Sally's leather coat, the oily rainbow sheen of a pigeon's feathers as it waddled out of their way, red buses like a giant's toys in the Transport Museum, Sally warming her hands around a foam cup of steaming tea.Cold, it would always be cold now.The freezing damp in the city's ancient bones, the cold waters of Sumida that had filled her mother's lungs, the chill flight of the neon cranes.Her mother was fine-boned and dark, the thick spill of her hair grained with gold highlights, like some rare tropical hardwood.
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"Pigeon above N.Y.C.0 views"Pigeon above N.Y.C.
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"Pigeon above N.Y.C.13 views"Pigeon above N.Y.C.
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