The Faded Apartment
The banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and stale tobacco, a thick, cloying atmosphere that seemed to settle in the lungs and refuse to leave. I sat at the long oak table, my uniform pressed and cold against my skin, watching the steam rise from my untouched plate. Around me, the men of the 4th Battalion laughed, their voices booming off the high, soot-stained walls of the industrial hall in...
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