The Other Twin
The diner on Elm Street smelled the same as it had for as long as Grace had been going there: weak coffee, fried onions, and the faint chemical tang of the vinyl booths that nobody had the money to replace. It was two in the morning on a Tuesday, which meant the only customers were Grace and Lily, a trucker in the corner booth, and the man in the back who came every night and ordered toast and...
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