The Distant Affair
The old man, a man whose hands were mapped with the topography of decades spent working with wood and wire, sat in the dim, amber glow of his workshop, listening to the rain lash against the high, arched windows of the shop. It was a sound that had become indistinguishable from the rhythm of his own failing heart, a steady, wet percussion that marked the passing of time in a city that no longer...
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