The Faded Apartment
The train hisses, a long, metallic exhalation that shakes the dust from the rafters of the platform, and you are standing there with your coat buttoned to the chin, watching the steam curl around your hands like a ghost trying to remember a face. It is the kind of cold that bites into the marrow, the sort of November chill that settles deep in the joints of a city that has forgotten how to be...
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