generational memory

The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…

The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…