The Faded Attic
The rain hit the shingles like a handful of gravel. Marek stood by the window. He watched the water run down the glass. It blurred the street below. The street was empty. The street was always empty. It was a town that did not sleep. It only waited. He turned away. The house was cold. The heating had stopped an hour ago. The pipes groaned. They sounded like old men coughing. Marek pulled his...
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