The Wistful Cipher
"Stop chewing." You stop. The gum is gone. Or maybe it was never there. It feels like a phantom limb in your mouth. A dry, dusty pressure. "Again." You swallow. Your throat clicks. You are in the car. It is raining. The wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic code against the glass. Tick. Tick. Tick. Margaret drives. She does not look at you. Her hands are white knuckles on the wheel. The dashboard...
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