The Wistful Dinner
The brass key hangs on the hook by the door. It has hung there for forty years. You touch it every morning. The metal is cold. The weight is familiar. You are a restorer of clocks. You fix them. You do not ask why they stop. You do not ask why they start. You are good at your job. You are silent. You are alone. The shop is on the corner of Elm and Fifth. It smells of oil and dust. Glass cases...
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