He had the innocent look of a blond cherub, his hand twisted
upright toward me as he lay asleep, his torso thrown over the
scratch-graffiti surface of the wood table. His soft white palm was
empty now, but I knew that only days before it had tightly grasped
a rifle.
1Fabric 36: Ricardo Villalobos
He had the innocent look of a blond cherub, his hand twisted upright toward me as he lay asleep, his torso thrown over the scratch-graffiti surface of the wood table. His soft white palm was empty now, but I knew that only days before it had tightly grasped a rifle.