George’s room is on the basement level of the Golden Guest House. Outside his rotting sash window is a shabby courtyard, walled in by the rest of the U-shaped building and the street above. There is a broken bench and child’s bucket, bathed in the dirty orange of a street light.
Come for the flash fiction and short stories. Stay for the sense of wonder at deriving meaning from weird symbols on a screen
Until the End of the World
Bulgaria was the last to fall. They even had hotel bellboys, for fuck’s sake.