The Wistful Incense

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 13:19:30 -

The train smelled of coal dust and wet wool. I kept my eyes on the window. The hills of Pennsylvania blurred into a grey smear. My wife, Clara, slept in the seat across from me. Her head rested on my shoulder. Her breathing was shallow. A rattle. It lived in her chest. A small, dry sound. Like a mouse in the walls. I did not wake her. I watched the landscape die. We were moving. Again. From the...

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