The Pale Verdict
The bus brakes hard. You feel it in your teeth. A lurch, a stop. The air inside the vehicle smells of wet wool and stale coffee. You are sitting in the back row. You are not wearing your coat. It is not in your lap. It is not on the seat beside you. It is gone. You know where it is. You have always known where it is. The man in front of you is reading a newspaper. The paper is damp. The ink...
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