Читать книгу Visual Inspection - Matt Rader - Страница 10

I hear the tangy slap of skin on metal as all the hands in front of me pass along the railing. My right hand waves at the air.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Then:

the railing,

round and cold, with what feels like an uneven paint job,

as though parts of what had covered the metal had

been picked away,

flaked off, so that

my fingers run across small ridges, tiny lips

marking the border between one layer⁷

of façade and the next.