The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-18 17:27:20 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that settled into the pores of the skin and the rust of the streetcars, creating a permanent state of damp melancholy that clung to the city like a second, heavier coat. I stood on the corner of Halsted and Madison, my hands buried in the pockets of my wool overcoat, watching the steam rise from the grates where...

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