The Wistful Mountain
You are the man who tastes the rot. It is not a metaphor. You know the difference between the sweet decay of a pear and the sour bile of a bad apple. Your tongue is your weapon. Your tongue is your only tool. The office is cold. The air smells of dust and old paper. You sit at the desk. The desk is wood. The wood is scratched. You run your finger over the scratch. You feel the texture. It is...
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