The Faded River
You hold the tin in your left hand, the one that is beginning to shake, a tremor that you have learned to disguise as a casual adjustment of the wrist, a subtle shift in balance that no one else in the crowded, rain-slicked street of the old industrial quarter would ever notice. The tin is dented, the paint peeling away to reveal the dull, oxidized gray of the metal beneath, and inside it lies...
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