The Wistful Skyline
The coat was too heavy for the season. It was a charcoal wool thing, thick and stiff, the kind of garment that seemed to absorb the light around it. I wore it every day, even when the air in the town of Harrow Creek turned crisp and clear, even when the sun hung low and golden over the rooftops. It was my anchor. It was the only thing that felt like mine in a world that had slowly,...
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