The Wistful Saga
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the streets of the coastal town into a slick, reflective mirror of the bruised sky, and I sat in the corner of the diner, my hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold, watching the water drip from the window frame onto the pavement below, where the ivy clung to the brickwork with a tenacity...
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