The Distant Joke
The coat is heavy. It weighs more than a man should carry on a Tuesday evening, yet you do not take it off. You stand in the center of the room, the air thick with the smell of ozone and old paper, and you feel the fabric pulling at your shoulders. It is a wool greatcoat, charcoal grey, the kind that used to be common in the faculty lounges of the nineteenth century. Now it is a relic. A...
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