The Machine of Wester Moorley (§.02)

§.02 Albrecht shoveled the jam-and-butter-slathered bread into his mouth as Otto consulted a small glass of whiskey. Otto sipped and gestured to the jellied-roll on the engineer's plate. "You're lucky. We're nearly at the last of it." "Of the bread you mean?" Otto nodded and held up the glass, swirling the amber liquid. "Bread and… Continue reading The Machine of Wester Moorley (§.02)