Harlequinade Gothique – by Ian A.

Bradley surveys the tray. Three cigarettes with a disposable lighter, a carton of chocolate milk and a small bowl of jelly beans. This is luxury, or least as luxurious as things have been for some time. The weak light from the late winter, afternoon sun tries to penetrate the grime on the room’s solitary window. Bradley can barely see the clock on the other side of the room. He knows that the performance is due to start though and all he has to do is sit back and await his cue.

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