The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 20:38:21 -

The Distant Joke

The rain hits the pavement in a staccato rhythm. You count the drops. One. Two. Three. You stop. The number is wrong. It is always wrong. You are sitting in the back of the taxi. The driver is silent. His head is turned toward the gray skyline. You watch his neck. The tendons stand out. Tight. Like cables on a ship. You are not the passenger. You are the cargo. The city is wet. It gleams. It...

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