Jul 23, 2021
9 min read
Chapter 23
By the time I feel my way back inside, Owen has finished off half a bottle of wine, the ashtray by his elbow a forest of yellow filters. On the table in front of him, piled on two plates covered with a paper towel to soak up the grease, drips a stack of pig-steaks and a handful of homemade sausages, juices bubbling from their bulging skins. The table has been set for dinner: three plates, silverware, thick crimson napkins, and a long candle burning in an ornate…
