The Faded Attic
The rain has been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that blurs the edges of the city into a smear of wet concrete and neon. You are sitting in the back of a black sedan, the leather seats cold against your thighs, watching the wipers slash back and forth in a rhythmic, mechanical breath. The driver, a man with the rigid posture of a statue, does not look at you. He does not need...
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