The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 23:37:41 -

The Distant Joke

The coat is gone. You stand at the threshold. The air is cold. It bites the skin. You leave the door open. The wind rushes in. It smells of damp earth and rot. You do not close it. You look at the empty hook. The wood is dark there. A ring of stain remains. The shape of the absence is more solid than the object was. You were the Archivist. This is the only title that mattered. You kept the...

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