The Distant Joke
You are standing in the rain that falls on the pavement of 4th Street, the water pooling in the cracks of the asphalt where the city breathes out its cold, wet sigh, and you are holding the object that defines you, the heavy, jagged piece of glass that you have carried in your coat pocket for three days, a shard from the window of the office where they told you that you were not what you...
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