The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 02:34:05 -

The air in the cafeteria tasted of bleach and old copper. I stood by the service window, the steel counter cold against my palms. My hands were bare. That was the rule. No gloves. No coverings. The uniform was a shapeless gray tunic, cut from heavy wool that smelled of damp wool and industrial soap. It had no pockets. It had no buttons, only a drawstring at the neck that I pulled tight until I...

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