The Wistful Show
The dream begins with the sound of a key turning in a lock that has been rusted shut for years, a sharp, metallic shriek that cuts through the static of your sleep, waking you not with a start but with a heavy, dragging weight, as if your bones have been filled with wet sand, and you are lying in the narrow, drafty room above the bakery on 4th Street, where the smell of burnt toast and old...
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