The Distant Nightmare
The rain does not fall so much as it is thrown, a cold and relentless slap against the windowpane of the car, blurring the world into a smear of grey and green that makes it difficult to tell where the road ends and the ditch begins, and you are driving, your hands white-knuckled on the wheel, feeling the vibration of the engine through the bones of your wrists, a hum that seems to resonate...
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