Mark set it down with a soft thud. “Okay,” he said, and walked back to the living room.
Her husband, Mark, leaned against the doorframe. “You’re still messing with that thing?” carla piece of art
Carla stood in the middle of her cramped studio, bare feet cold on the linoleum floor. In her hands, she held a small, lumpy object no bigger than a coffee mug. To anyone else, it might have looked like a failed pottery experiment—a grayish coil of clay with uneven ridges and a strange, thumb-sized dent in the side. Mark set it down with a soft thud