Recension

“What is it?” Dad takes the object in his hands and turns it over. The paint has worn through in places where the metal gleams beneath. “I don’t know.” It’s a cylinder. Big and heavy, at least for me. “Is it safe?” “Probably not. We should leave it. Nobody will buy it.” It clatters to the ground. His fingers are black where he touched it. He holds them up in the pale blue dim of the ancient corrid…