The Wistful Asylum
You stand at the edge of the platform. The air is thin. It smells of diesel and wet wool. You are waiting for the train. You are waiting for him. You hold the coat. It is heavy. It is dark blue. It is his. The station is empty. The lights buzz. They are yellow. They are old. You look at your hands. They are pale. They are still. You do not shake. You are trained not to shake. You are a woman of...
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