The Faded Photograph
The wool of my greatcoat, once the color of a bruised plum and heavy with the damp weight of a thousand patrolling nights, had long since surrendered its vibrancy to the relentless friction of duty, fading now into a pale, ashen grey that seemed less like fabric and more like the dust of a forgotten grave clinging to the shoulders of a man who had walked too far into the dark. I stood at the...
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