The Faded Road
The grey wool coat was not merely a garment to me, but a skin I had worn so long that the distinction between my flesh and the fabric had long since dissolved into a single, aching entity, and it was this very intimacy with the worn thing, this terrible closeness to the fraying edges of my own existence, that drove me out of the village and into the howling, ancient dark of the moors, where the...
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