The Distant Cartograph

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 06:24:53 -

The train was late. It was always late. I sat on the hard bench, my hands wrapped around a cold cup of coffee that had lost its heat an hour ago. The station was a cathedral of iron and glass, vast and echoing. Steam hissed from the tracks, a white ghost that curled around my boots. I watched the clock. The second hand ticked. It was a sound that had defined my life for forty years. Tick. Tick....

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