The Wistful Voyage
The rain hits the windshield. It is a rhythmic tap. A code. You hear it over the radio static. “Unit Seven, status?” “Copy. Holding position at the intersection. Traffic is heavy.” Your voice is flat. You do not tremble. You check the mirror. Your eyes are wide. The pupils are dilated. You are in the car. The car is black. It is unmarked. It blends into the wet asphalt. You are waiting. The man...
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