The Faded Apartment
The rain does not fall so much as it presses against the soot-blackened windows of the fourth-floor walk-up, a heavy, industrial curtain that blurs the neon bleed of the city below into a smear of electric purple and bruised yellow, and you stand there, your hands trembling not from the cold that seeps through the threadbare wool of your uniform jacket, but from the sheer, suffocating weight of...
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