The Pale Letter
The coat is blue. It hangs on the hook by the door. It has been there for forty years. The wool is thin now. The buttons are loose. You do not touch it. You look at it. The room is cold. Steam rises from the pipe. The fire is low. The clock ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. You dream of the factory floor. The air is thick with dust. The machines roar. The noise is a wall. You stand still. Your hands are...
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