The Faded Attic
The coat is red. It hangs on the hook by the door. It has always hung there. You know this because you are the one who hung it. Or perhaps you hung it a thousand times before this morning. The fabric is thick wool. It smells of lavender and old dust. It smells of your own skin. You are a scholar. You study the past. You believe that the past can be fixed. You believe that if you can just find...
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