The Wistful Witness
The rain against the window of the faculty lounge was not falling; it was being pressed against the glass by an invisible, impatient hand, a relentless gray static that blurred the world outside into a smear of wet asphalt and neon. Inside, the air smelled of stale coffee and the sharp, chemical tang of the toner used in the department’s latest internal memo, a document that had arrived that...
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