The Pale Bonsai
The rain in Manchester does not fall so much as it is deposited, a bureaucratic decision made by the clouds that the ground must be wet, so they simply release the water in a steady, gray, indifferent stream. I was driving a flatbed truck that smelled of damp cardboard and old diesel, a vehicle that had seen better decades and likely better men, hauling a cargo of industrial compressors to a...
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