The Faded Alibi
I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was not blood, though it felt like it. It was the metallic tang of old copper, of coins buried in wet earth for a century. My hands were shaking. I looked at them. They were my hands, but they were also the hands of a man I had not seen in forty years. They were thin. The knuckles were swollen, red as berries. I knew those hands. They had built the...
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