The Faded Photograph
The rain has been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turns the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick, treacherous mirrors. You stand in the doorway of your small, rented room, the one that smells of damp wool and stale tea, and you watch the water run down the brickwork in thick, weeping rivulets. Inside, the air is still and heavy, thick with the silence of a man who...
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