The Wistful Cipher
The rain slicks the asphalt of the city into a mirror, a dark, trembling eye that stares back up at you with a familiarity that is almost painful, and you stand at the curb of the intersection where the world seems to have folded in on itself, holding the wet, heavy coat of the man who just walked away, a figure of such profound finality that the air around him seems to crack and shatter into...
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