The Amber Anchor
The rain in New York has a way of blurring the edges of people, turning them into grey silhouettes against a backdrop of neon and steel. Clara stood under the awning of a small bookstore in Greenwich Village, watching the commuters rush past like a river of ghosts. She was twenty-four, a freelance illustrator with a penchant for sketching strangers and a persistent feeling that she was waiting...
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