The Wistful Dinner
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that blurred the line between the road and the ditch. I sat in the driver’s seat of the unmarked sedan, the engine ticking a cold rhythm against the silence of the cabin. My hands rested on the wheel, palms slick with a sweat that had nothing to do with the temperature. The wipers beat a slow, metronomic pulse,...
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