The Geometry of Solitude (V-12)
The rain in New York has a specific frequency. It is a steady, rhythmic drumming against the glass of my floor-to-ceiling windows, a grey noise that fills the silence of my apartment. I live in a space of white walls, grey linen, and a single, black leather chair. I have removed everything that could possibly distract me from the Pattern. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a man of habit, and my...
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