The Slow Grind of Concrete and Bone in the Shadow of an Indifferent Town
CHAPTER 1: THE FRICTION OF RUST “Pick up the pieces, old man. Or maybe they look better like that. Suits the jacket.” The words had the greasy weight of cheap fuel. Miller didn’t look up immediately. His eyes were fixed on the curb, where the white ceramic shard—the small, unglazed base of the jar his…