The Faded Apartment
The rain in the city did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker, turning the soot of the foundries and the dust of the streets into a black paste that clung to the cobblestones. Thomas Bradshaw stood on the corner of 4th and Main, watching the water trace the cracks in the pavement. He was a man carved from the same rough material as the city itself, his uniform pressed and dark,...
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