The Pale Shadows
The coffee in the mug is cold, the surface a stagnant, dark mirror reflecting the bare bulb above the table, and you are sitting across from him, your hands wrapped around the ceramic as if it were the only solid thing in a world that has begun to dissolve into fog. He is eating. He is eating the apple, biting into the crisp, wet flesh with a violence that seems out of place in this small,...
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