Archives: Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Die Todnacht

Graz the Ragman trundled his barrow through a landscape he did not recognize, though he had  lived all his life in Dresden. Where the Frauenkirche had stood was now a tumble of scorched stones, smoke and dust hanging in the air like a shroud. The baker where his mother had sent him for the Sunday loaf of rye

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