The Golden Greenhouse
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Community Center smelled of stale yeast and unwashed wool, a pungent mixture that seemed to cling to the back of your throat with the tenacity of a secret. You sat at the head of the long table, your plate untouched, while the townspeople of Oakhaven passed by, their faces illuminated by the flickering, amber glow of the incandescent bulbs that hung low from...
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