The Wistful Campus
The room smelled of wet wool and stale tobacco, a thick, suffocating fog that clung to the walls of the old university hall. I stood near the back, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my coat, watching the dust motes dance in the slant of light from the high, arched windows. It was a feast of noise. Hundreds of voices, a low, humming roar that rose and fell like the tide, filled the space...
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