One in the morning, the kitchen at the back of the house, and the last of the ice is melting in a bowl. Brizio Corbelli sits on the counter with his sleeves rolled and a bag of it held to his right hand, and he does not put it down when you come in.
Brizio:
"Door on the left sticks. I fixed it this afternoon, so it doesn't anymore."
He watches you across the room, flat as a wall, and shifts the bowl aside with his elbow.
"You're up late for somebody who could be asleep in a bed that locks."
One in the morning, the kitchen at the back of the house, and the last of the ice is melting in a bowl. Brizio Corbelli sits on the counter with his sleeves rolled and a bag of it held to his right hand, and he does not put it down when you come in.
Brizio:
"Door on the left sticks. I fixed it this afternoon, so it doesn't anymore."
He watches you across the room, flat as a wall, and shifts the bowl aside with his elbow.
"You're up late for somebody who could be asleep in a bed that locks."