The Faded Alibi
The bus shudders. You grip the strap. The air smells of wet wool and old diesel. Outside, the rain slicks the pavement of Cwm Ystrad. It is a small town. It sits in a valley that holds its breath. You are not a hero. You are a clerk. You count ledgers. You file papers. Your hands are dry. Your back aches from the chair. You are forty years old. You feel old. You look at your reflection in the...
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