What We Cannot Say
What We Cannot SayThe subway train rattled through the tunnel like a lung with fluid in it. Chloe Ruiz pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the Flatbush Avenue station and watched her reflection stare back at her. Tired eyes. Dark circles. The kind of tired that sleep does not fix.She had been awake for sixteen hours. Six at the bodega, two at rehearsal, eight walking the hospital...
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