[ Metzger’s voice sidewinds beneath even silence, barely audible alongside the last scuff of a tin cup across the bar.
He’s reading, attention downcast onto a stack of memos through the pair of glasses he has seated low on his nose. The paper is mottled dark between his hands, fiber pulped and printed over a thousandfold. The pads of his fingers are smudged grey with ink.
It doesn’t stop him touching the middle one to his tongue before he turns the page. ]
[reality]
[ Metzger’s voice sidewinds beneath even silence, barely audible alongside the last scuff of a tin cup across the bar.
He’s reading, attention downcast onto a stack of memos through the pair of glasses he has seated low on his nose. The paper is mottled dark between his hands, fiber pulped and printed over a thousandfold. The pads of his fingers are smudged grey with ink.
It doesn’t stop him touching the middle one to his tongue before he turns the page. ]