The Faded Sutra
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray drizzle that turned the cobblestones of the old market square into a slick, reflective mirror where the world seemed to dissolve into its own reflection, and as I stood there with my hands deep in the pockets of my worn wool coat, watching the water bead and run down the glass of the shop window, I felt a strange, hollow emptiness in...
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