The Wistful Skyline
The soup in the aluminum bowl had cooled to a congealed, gelatinous state that reflected the harsh, fluorescent hum of the cafeteria lights, a pale, yellowish smear that Marcus stared at with a dull, persistent focus that bordered on the obsessive, while around him the other men shifted in their metal chairs, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic chorus of complaints and idle threats...
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