The Golden Downtown
The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a gray, suspended veil that turned the cobblestones of the old city into a mirror of your own weary reflection. You stand at the window of the small, rented room above the bakery, watching the water drip from the eaves in a rhythm that feels less like weather and more like the slow, deliberate beating of a heart that has forgotten how to stop. You are a...
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