The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 04:24:33 -

The Distant Joke

The road is salted with frost. It crunches under your boots, a sound like breaking teeth. You walk north. The sky is the color of a bruise, swollen and purple. There is no sun. There is only the light that comes from the things in the trees. They hang there, pulsing. Soft. Wet. Like fruit that has forgotten how to stay solid. You carry a bag. It is heavy. Inside is the bread. The white loaf. It...

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