The Pale Meridian
The rain hits the asphalt in a steady, rhythmic drumming. You stand at the window. Your coat is wet. You do not dry it. You look at the street below. It is empty. The street is a line. It divides the town in two. One side is yours. The other side is his. This is the boundary. You have drawn it in your mind for twenty years. It is not on any map. It is in the blood. It is in the bone. You are a...
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