The Distant Wound
The rain hits the glass. It hits it hard. It hits it harder. You are inside. The air is cold. You are the building. Your walls are wet. Your bones are rust. You stand in the lobby. The marble is cold under your feet. It is slick. It is old. You feel the cracks. They run through your floor. They run through your soul. You are a craftsman. You built this place. You know every joint. You know...
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