The Distant Cartograph
The rain on the windshield was a relentless, rhythmic tapping that seemed to synchronize with the pounding in your temples. You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles turned the color of old bone, watching the wipers sweep back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the world from view. It was a gray, featureless morning, the kind that erased the distinction between the road and the...
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