The Distant Wound
The rain in the city did not fall so much as it hovered, a permanent, grey membrane that pressed against the windowpane of my small, rented room on the fourth floor, blurring the neon signs of the street below into streaks of indigo and sickly yellow, a visual noise that I had long since learned to ignore in favor of the rhythmic, thudding pulse of my own blood which seemed to have grown...
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