The Wistful Grid

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2026-08-20 08:33:55 -

The Wistful Grid

The bread was dry. Margaret stared at the loaf. It sat on the counter. The crust was pale. The air in the kitchen was stale. She did not smell it. She only saw the shape. It was a perfect rectangle. Like a block of stone. Like a coffin for nothing. She lived in Millhaven. A town of brick and soot. The factory chimneys smoked at dawn. The smoke hung low. It tasted of iron. Margaret worked the...

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