The Golden Harbor
The hand is not yours. You know this. You know it because the skin is too thin, the knuckles too swollen, the nails too short. It is a hand that has held too much weight for too long. It is your father’s hand. Or it is yours, but changed. The mirror in the hallway is fogged. You wipe it with a rag. The glass is cold. The face looking back is yours. But the hands are wrong. They are too large....
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