The Pale Bonsai
The rain in Duluth had a particular weight to it, a cold, gray drizzle that seemed less like water and more like a slow, wet erasure of the world, settling into the wool of Margaret’s coat and the cracks of her knuckles as she walked toward the Institute of Anomalous Botany. She carried no umbrella, for she had long since decided that shielding oneself from the weather was a form of cowardice,...
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