The Pale Banner
The van smells of damp wool and diesel. You are driving. The heater blows warm air against your face, a dry, suffocating heat that makes your skin itch. Your left hand grips the steering wheel. The leather is worn thin at the spot where your thumb rests. You know the wear pattern. It is a map of your habit, a scar on the object. Outside, the rain hammers the windshield. The wipers beat a slow,...
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