The Wistful Show
The air in the basement of the Whitmore community center tasted of dust and stale coffee, a thick, cloying mixture that clung to the back of Marcus’s throat. He sat in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the swirling motes of light that danced in the single beam of the work lamp. Around him, the room was a cavern of shadows, the walls lined with shelves that held not books,...
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