An Elderly Man Sat Fishing On A Wooden Pier Until Three Young Men Approached Him

The morning had come in slowly, the way mornings do on old water, light arriving before warmth, mist sitting low over the surface of the lake like something that had nowhere else to be. Viktor Sorokov had driven out before dawn, before the town stirred, before the bakery on the corner of Lenina Street put its first loaves in, before the dogs started continue reading …