September 2005
1 post
The Spoils of War
Her unkempt hair falls down her back, twisting in long, wavy strands of jet-black curls sharply contrasting against her sky-blue jumpsuit. She takes notes furiously as the old man — his hand shaking involuntarily from age and illness — paces across the front of the room, delivering a lecture full of ideas and questions. Her back leans against the side of the table, her notepad rests on her knees...