The Wistful Saga
The rain has not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that blurs the distinction between the pavement and the curb outside your office window. You are standing at the glass, watching the water bead and run, your hand resting on the cold surface, feeling the vibration of the city’s subterranean engines humming through the floor. Your left shoulder aches, a dull, throbbing pain that...
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