The Distant Cartograph
The rain in Seattle does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker, turning the gray sidewalks into mirrors that reflect the fractured neon of the city back up at you, distorted and unrecognizable. You are standing on the corner of Pike and Pine, your coat soaked through to the skin, the water pooling in the elbows where the fabric has thinned to a translucent, fragile skin. You...
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