The Faded River
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center smelled of boiled cabbage and floor wax, a scent that had seeped into the very plaster of the walls over decades. It was a Tuesday, which meant the dining room was full of the quiet, shuffling presence of men who had lost the war against their own shadows. Elias sat at the end of the long table, his hands folded tightly in his lap, the...
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