The Distant Legend
The rain tapped against the glass. It was a soft, persistent sound. I loved it. I needed it. It was the only honest thing in the office. The room smelled of old paper and dust. My desk was a fortress of books. They were my walls. They were my skin. I was the chair. I was the lamp. I was the silence. My father had built this place. He had poured the concrete. He had laid the bricks. He had died...
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