The Wistful Show

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2026-08-20 08:11:51 -

The Wistful Show

The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the low, bruised sky, a constant, wet sigh that soaked into the wool of my greatcoat and chilled the marrow of my bones. I stood at the edge of the blackwater, the mud of the riverbank sucking at my boots with a desperate, living hunger, and I felt the weight of my own hands pressing against the sides of my chest. They were heavy, these hands...

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