The Wistful Campus
The rain has been falling for three days, a persistent, gray curtain that blurs the edges of the town into a watercolor of mud and rusted metal, and you stand at the back of the bus, your fingers white-knuckled around the strap, watching the schoolhouse shrink into the mist until it is just a dark square of window glass reflecting your own hollowed-out face. You are leaving, or so the town...
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