SJ Carpenter
Bio
Stories (4/0)
Inspector Bassé and the Winter Wolf
To the right as I walked out of the building was the Café du Guillaume. I took a seat on the square. It was cold and my breath clouded in front of my face. The waiter was old and wrapped up in a coat and scarf against the January morning. The weak sun had climbed as high as it would go and sent down a poor pale light into the square. I ordered a coffee and watched the townspeople out and about on their business. I searched their faces for any clue of remembrance. Many had the familiar cast of the region, all a little paler, all a centimeter or two taller than the milieu I had left behind. All of them, every single one, looked like people I once knew.
By SJ Carpenter2 years ago in Fiction
Inspector Bassé and the Winter Wolf
When I arrived at the end of the street, I caught the overwhelming aroma of sardines being grilled. The scent, laid on a bed of frosty air, started my stomach off on a cry for sustenance. I quietly scolded it for blasphemy. Supper could wait.
By SJ Carpenter2 years ago in Fiction