The Wistful Ashes
The coat is red. It is a violent, arterial red that stains the beige carpet of the waiting room. You are sitting on the vinyl chair. The chair squeaks. It squeaks in a high, thin note that cuts the air. You are looking at the coat. It is not yours. It belongs to the man across from you. His name is Julian. He is wearing a grey suit. The suit is drab. The coat is bright. The room is small. It...
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