Posted on June 14, 2018
by Bob McCranie
Leave a Comment
At first, I thought a brown dress glove on the floor of the parking garage, its seams raised like tendon lines stiffening the back of my hand. A life exhaled was folded flat, composed like rain-dried leather. The BMW was in my space again….
Category: 67. May, Current IssueTags: John A Hicks
Find our legacy site at www.RedRiverReview.net
Copyright © 2018 by Red River Review.
First Print Rights & Non-Exclusive Anthology Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors. No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.