The Faded Apartment
I have lived within the margins of the script for forty years, my existence reduced to a series of silent, trembling annotations in the footnotes of a text I am forbidden to read in full, yet which I know by heart, every inflection and every cruel, precise comma, as intimately as I know the topography of my own bruised and bleeding skull, and now, in this antechamber of the Great Archive where...
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