The Pale Bonsai
The pain starts in the left hand. It is not a sharp pain. It is a dull, heavy ache. It sits in the palm. It pulses with the blood. You hold the cup. The porcelain is warm. The steam rises. You smell the bitter leaf. You are in the office. The glass is clean. The view is gray. The city is quiet. Margaret sits across from you. She does not look at your hand. She looks at the paper. She pushes the...
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