The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 17:42:12 -

The rain does not fall so much as it is hurled, a horizontal sheet of grey water that blurs the boundary between the cobblestones and the mist, turning the night into a soup of slate and iron where the streetlamps burn with a sickly, jaundiced glow, casting long, trembling shadows that seem to stretch and contract like the ribs of a dying beast. You are standing there, in the mud, in the cold,...

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