The Pale Tower
The fog had a texture, a viscous, grey wool that pressed against the plexiglass of the patrol car’s windshield, blurring the skeletal remains of the town into a watercolor of indistinct shapes, and I sat within the confines of the vehicle, the heater blowing a warm, dry air that smelled faintly of diesel and old wool, listening to the rhythmic, hydraulic sigh of the suspension as the car...
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