He considers it time
CASPIAN The archive is in a town that used to be a different town. You can see it in the bones of the place — the street grid that doesn’t quite make sense, the way the older buildings sit at an angle to everything built after the war as if they never finished deciding which direction to face. There is a church with two different steeples. There is a square that was a market and then a square again and, briefly, something Caspian doesn’t like to think about, and is now a market again. History here is not buried. It is merely paved over, lightly, and it shows through in the frost. He parks on a side street out of habit. Not necessity. Habit. Farah has not spoken since they left the house, but it is not the silence of someone with nothing to say. He has learned the difference. She is cat
- Writer
