- 25.5.16 17:08
- "I was eight or ten years old then. I used to wait at the bus stop for my dad to come home from work. Usually he was as regular as clockwork. But every two weeks or so, he wouldn't be on the bus. I'd stick around then and wait for the next bus, but I already knew he wasn't going to be on that one, either."
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/3059/the-art-of-fiction-no-76-raymond-c arver - 0 piezīmesvieta jūsu piezīmēm
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