The Last Seam
Gareth woke at five-thirty. The alarm clock was a luxury he had bought secondhand for three shillings. It worked most mornings. Today it did not. He sat up anyway. The room was cold. The window had a crack in the lower pane that let in air no matter how tightly he pressed the newspaper against it. He pulled his sweater on over his head. It had a hole in the elbow. He did not fix it. Downstairs,...
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