The Faded Sutra
You think it’s just the rain, don’t you? You think it’s just the damp that gets into the bones, the kind that sticks to the wool and the skin and never quite washes out, no matter how many buckets of lye water you scrub it with, no matter how hard you rub the elbows and the knees until the skin turns raw and red and peels away in little flakes that drift down into the gutter like dead leaves in...
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