The Wistful Skyline
The air in the atrium of St. Jude’s Institute for the Deaf was thick with the scent of boiled cabbage and floor wax, a cloying, institutional perfume that clung to the wool sweaters of the children and settled into the pores of the teachers who moved through the crowd like ghosts trying to hold their shape. It was a feast, or what the administration called a feast, a chaotic sprawl of plastic...
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