The Distant Joke
The rain hits the pavement in gray sheets. You stand in the doorway of the precinct. The air smells of wet asphalt and stale coffee. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzz. It is a low, persistent hum. You feel it in your teeth. You look down at your hands. They are steady. They have always been steady. That is the problem. Your brother, Elias, is in Cell 4. He has been there for three days. He...
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