Posted by The end result felt new, but as lived-in as a broken-in boot. No single part sounded invented, and there was no evidence of emotional manipulation or stylistic fancy-dancing—no key changes, no puzzling genre pastiche—just a straightforward tune. Its elements hung together in a way that allowed one to forget its form, entirely, as it triumphantly reverberated through the wallpaper, out the windows and up to the sky.
Read more at Flash Fiction Magazine
