The Faded Frequency
The envelope is thick, the paper cream-colored and heavy, smelling faintly of the tobacco you no longer smoke. You hold it in your hands, your knuckles white against the soft fiber, and you look out the window at the soot-stained brick of the apartment across the street. The gas lamps are being lit, one by one, along the cobblestone street, casting long, trembling shadows that stretch toward...
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