The Golden Visit
The rain did not fall so much as it pressed against the single-pane window of the precinct station, a thick, oily film that blurred the neon bleed of the city into a smeared watercolor of indigo and sickly yellow, and I stood there with my hands gripping the edge of the cold steel desk until my knuckles turned the color of old bone, watching my own reflection warp and stretch in the wet glass,...
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