The Golden Downtown
The rain against the windowpane is a sound you have learned to love, a rhythmic tapping that masks the silence of the room. You sit in the chair by the fire, the leather worn smooth in the shape of your hips, and you look at your hands. They are resting on your knees, palms up, fingers slightly curled. You are waiting for the pain to arrive, or perhaps you are waiting for it to stop. It has...
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