The Distant Blade
You leave the apartment. The door slams. It shakes the frame. You check the lock. You turn the handle. It does not open. You are out. The air is cold. It bites your skin. You walk fast. Your breath is a cloud. It vanishes. The city is awake. It hums. It grinds. You are small. You are new. You have no money. You have no name here. Only a face. And a bird. The bird is in your hand. It is small....
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