The Faded Alibi
The ink had already begun to bleed into the porous skin of the city, a slow, viscous hemorrhage that stained the subway grates and the cracked facades of the brownstones on the avenue where Elias Thorne had lived for the last decade of his life in this particular iteration of his existence. It was not a metaphor, nor was it a poetic license granted by the narrator’s desire to elevate the...
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