The Pale Tale
The rain against the panoramic glass of the executive boardroom did not fall; it smeared, a viscous gray film that blurred the skyline of Chicago into a watercolor of indeterminate grief. I stood by the window, my reflection a ghostly overlay on the wet city, watching the traffic crawl in sluggish, amber-streaked lines below. Inside, the air was conditioned to a sterile, sub-arctic chill,...
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