The Pale Bonsai
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey sheet that turned the world outside our window into a smudge of wet slate and bruised purple, a kind of liquid eraser wiping away the sharp edges of the neighborhood until only the house remained, a solitary island in a sea of mud, and I sat at the kitchen table, my hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold an hour ago,...
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