The Wistful Skyline
The rain does not fall so much as it is projected, a fine, metallic mist that coats the air in the industrial district of Leeds, turning the smog into a heavy, breathing thing that presses against the windows of the train carriage until the glass groans under the weight of the atmosphere. You are sitting in the corner, your knees drawn up to your chest, the leather seat worn smooth by the...
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