The Pale Garden

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2026-08-17 17:36:57 -

The Pale Garden

The bus smells of wet wool and stale coffee, a scent that clings to your lungs like a second skin. You are sitting in the back, near the engine, where the vibration rattles your teeth. Outside, the Pennsylvania fog rolls through the valley in thick, grey sheets, erasing the road ahead until you cannot see more than ten feet of asphalt. It is a Tuesday in November, the kind of day that feels...

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