The Wistful Voyage
The badge sat in the pocket of his dress shirt. It was a heavy, cold thing. A small, circular weight against his hip. It pressed into the fabric, a physical reminder of the law he had served for thirty years. Officer Thomas Bradshaw stood alone in his kitchen. The morning light was pale and thin. It cut across the linoleum floor. It did not warm the room. It only revealed the dust. He looked at...
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