The Pale Shadows
The rain in Dublin has a specific weight to it, a heavy, grey dampness that settles into the bones and stays there long after the sky clears. I sat in my office, the blinds drawn against the afternoon gloom, and held the ceramic bowl in my hands. It was a simple thing, glazed in a pale, off-white that chipped at the rim, revealing the dark clay beneath. It was an object of no market value, a...
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