The Distant Wound
The rain hits the window like static. You are holding a cup of cold tea. The water has gone to the bottom. You watch it swirl. It looks like a galaxy dying. Outside, the sirens do not wail. They hum. A low, constant drone that vibrates in your teeth. It is the sound of the State breathing. You are in the kitchen. The tiles are cracked. You have not fixed them. You never fix things. Fixing...
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