The Wistful Skyline
The glass did not shatter. It exhaled. That was the first thing I noticed, though I was not looking at the window. I was looking at the dust motes dancing in the beam of the late afternoon sun, a golden suspension of time in the cramped, windowless office on the fourth floor of the Meridian Exchange. The air smelled of old paper and ozone, a scent that had seeped into my pores over the last...
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