The Distant Garden
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the streets of Oakhaven into rivers of sludge and reflected the dim, amber light of the streetlamps in distorted, trembling pools. I sat in the back of my sedan, the engine ticking as it cooled, watching the water streak down the glass and blur the world into a smear of wet asphalt and brick. My hands were cold, not...
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