The Faded Alibi
The train did not arrive with the hiss of steam and the clatter of iron on iron that you had spent your entire adult life cataloging, but rather with a soft, wet exhalation, as if the tracks themselves were breathing out a long-held sigh of relief, and you stood on the platform at the edge of the world, where the air smelled of ozone and crushed violets, holding a ledger that weighed nothing...
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