The Wistful Incense

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 23:08:35 -

The bus smelled of wet wool and diesel, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat, and Julian sat in the very last row, his knees pressed against the cold window as if trying to erase himself from the physical world. He was twelve, an age where the mind is a hungry, sharp-edged thing, and he was looking for the end of the line, the place where the noise stopped and the truth...

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