|
|
Deep inside the cell's darkness lies the set of counter-spinning log cubes, cabin maison for the wandering and vague âme that Jacob has always been. If Jacob were Cain, he would look sharply at this sight as he passed it on the highway, noting it down in his small remaining mémoire as a potential resting spot for later in the jour . |
||
|
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
