The Faded Apartment
The ferns in the living room were dying, their fronds curling inward like fists closing over secrets, and David sat in the armchair that his father had bought in the mid-nineties, staring at the brown tips that threatened to consume the green, knowing with a cold, physical certainty that he had not watered them in three days, not because he was forgetful, which he was not, but because he was...
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