The Wistful Dinner
The fog rolls in thick as wool. You step off the train at Harrowgate. The station is empty. The air tastes of iron and wet stone. You are here to deliver the last letter. You are the wise one. You know what this means. You have always known. The train hisses and disappears into the gray. You walk. The town is a phantom. The houses lean close, whispering in tongues you almost understand. This is...
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