The Distant Journey
The rain hit the glass with a steady, rhythmic tap. It was a cold, gray Tuesday. Margaret sat in the corner of the diner. She watched the condensation form on the windowpane. Beads of water slid down, merging, splitting. A perfect, chaotic loop. "You look tired, Mrs. Holloway." The waitress, a young girl named Clara, placed a cup of black coffee on the table. The steam rose in a thin, white...
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