The Wistful Asylum
The porcelain cup sits on the tray, untouched, its glaze flawless under the fluorescent hum of the breakroom, a small, cold moon suspended in the gray morning light that filters through the high, barred windows of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center for the Elderly, a place where time does not pass so much as it pools, thick and stagnant, in the corners of the rooms and the hollows of the...
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