Jun 15
"Fireworks crackled outside when he appeared at her door. The neighbors set them off during football matches and to show whether or not they agreed with the news, but the noise that night was louder, thundering above the buildings like lost bullets. The visitor introduced himself as Quaint, no surname, following the tradition of his kind. My sobriquet since the nineteenth century, he would later say, coined by my late wife. In age, Quaint looked like he could be anywhere in that nebulous period of adult life that ranged from thirty to fifty, but it was more, much more."
Tagging @torpublishinggroup because more people need to read Cabaret in Flames
