The Weight of Salt and Iron on a Crumbling Concrete Floor
CHAPTER 1: THE FAULT LINES OF INDIFFERENCE The wool of the cap was coarse, smelling faintly of the mothballs and cedar chips where it spent twenty-nine days of every month. It sat low on his brow, the stitched gold lettering—faded to the color of wet straw—catching the harsh, unwashed glare of the afternoon sun bouncing…