The Distant Affair
The road was a vein of gray silt, pulsing under the tires of the black sedan. You drove north, toward the town of Oakhaven, where the fog lay thick as wool on the river. The radio hissed, then died. Silence was the only passenger. You were a man of the law, a shield, a wall. Your uniform pressed against your chest, a second skin of duty. The weight was familiar. It was the weight of the world...
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