The Wistful Skyline
The air in the basement rec center tasted of stale rubber and industrial disinfectant, a sharp, chemical bite that settled in the back of my throat and refused to leave. It was a space designed for containment, a windowless box of concrete and cinder block where the only light came from the flickering fluorescent tubes that hummed with a low, electric anxiety, casting a sickly, greenish pallor...
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