The Wistful Campus
The clock on the wall ticks. It is a heavy sound. It is a wooden sound. It hits the glass face. It splits the silence. You sit in the office. The desk is oak. It is scarred. It is old. You look at the brass bell. It sits on the corner. It is cold. It is still. You do not touch it. You do not want to touch it. The door opens. It swings wide. The air rushes in. It smells of rain. It smells of...
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