The Pale Tale
The coffee is cold. You taste the burnt bitterness on your tongue. It coats the back of your throat. A film of oil sits on the surface. You do not drink it. You hold the cup. The ceramic is warm against your palms. It is a white mug. It has a chip in the rim. A small flaw. Like a scar. You are leaving. Your bag is by the door. It is heavy. It is full of books. Old books. Hardcovers. Their...
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