The Wistful Show
You wake up in the rain. Not the polite drizzle of a spring morning, but a heavy, grey sheet that turns the world into a blur of slate and wet stone. You are standing in the alley behind the courthouse. Your coat is soaked through. You remember nothing of the night before. Only a taste of copper on your tongue and a headache that feels like a nail driven deep into your left temple. You check...
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