#39 – Armenian
The cherry was as sour as Levon’s mood. His mouth welled with juice as he leant against the rusted hulk of his car, his breath billowing in frozen clouds.
The sun was just creeping above the frosted horizon, slowly revealing the pitch-black earth of the fields. Levon remembered days when he would sit with his father and watch the sun rise. Such innocent days when the cherries were still sweet. So long ago.
The trunk of the car rattled and shook. Levon slashed his foot against the metal, barking at the girl to keep quiet.
(c) Tim Austin. Promo image by Jake Malera via Unsplash.
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