The Wistful Campus
The mirror in the hallway of our old house in Harrowgate had always been slightly too large for the frame. It was an antique thing, brass-rimmed and tarnished, leaning against the plaster wall with the precarious dignity of a dying monarch. I kept it there because it was the only place in the house where I felt fully seen, and yet, strangely, never judged. I am a man of middling stature and...
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