”You’ve got to dig a bit deeper,” my dad says, puffing on his non-filtered cigarette and exhaling an exemplary smoke ring. A repetitive squeaking and the on and off sight of his mustard-colored indoor slippers make me certain he’s rocking the garden hammock in full swing. The slippers shine in contrast to the blue evening-shaded grass, and they’re all I see of him from down here.
Den första delen av denna mini-trilogin är publicerad och du kan läsa den här: Shipwrights Review
