The Faded Paradox
The banquet hall of St. Jude’s Correctional Facility for Juvenile Delinquents smelled of boiled cabbage and stale wine, a heavy, cloying scent that seemed to coat the back of my throat like a second skin, thick and unyielding, pressing against the air in a way that made it difficult to draw a full breath, let alone find the words necessary to articulate the quiet, devastating truth that had...
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