The Pale Altar
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Community Center smelled of stale beer, industrial floor wax, and the cloying sweetness of burnt sugar from the caramel apples that lined the long tables, a sensory assault that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of my chest where the heart used to beat with a steady, rhythmic purpose before the years began to hollow it out and replace the drum with the ticking...
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