***Author's Note*** This story is a companion piece to my earlier story "1969: Ghost Before the Dawn" and a companion piece to any stories in the "1969" series, and related series. You don't have to read those to understand this story. They are all meant to make sense individually, as well as together. * * * * * It was a cold afternoon in late February of 1969. Twenty-one-year-old Ginger — a black-haired copper-skinned woman with a tall, hourglass frame — was sprawled over the small bed. The mattress had a few broken springs and had been stuffed with newspaper and taped up. When she was a kid, it was a game of sorts, pretending she and her brother were robbers hiding expensive paintings or prisoners with contraband, biding their time before they could escape. It really used to be fun. Used to. Her mother was working. Her brother and his fiancée were searching for houses and walking their dog along the way. Ginger was alone in the little East Harlem apartme...
Комментарии
Отправить комментарий