A reading slump week — from The Witches of Eastwick on pause to a true crime podcast binge, here's what's (and isn't) working for me right now.
Thanks a lot, everyone
A crumbling house, a broken umbrella, and one Marlboro after another — a short story about what's left behind when someone's gone.
What’s left of the lake
Rusted chairs, broken life rings, ivy climbing over a padlocked shed.
The Fog-Wrapped Villa
A thin, damp mist rises from the small, cold stream, wrapping around a stone sculpture of a peasant woman.