The Wistful Skyline
You are driving the car again, not to where you are going, but away from the place you used to be, the tires humming a low, rhythmic prayer against the wet asphalt that stretches out into the gray, indistinct horizon where the sky meets the earth in a bruise of purple and slate. The wipers beat a frantic, syncopated rhythm against the windshield, each swipe clearing a temporary window into the...
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