The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 13:54:55 -

The Pale Meridian

The rain in Chicago did not fall; it hovered, a grey, suspended dust that clung to the wool of Margaret’s coat and the glass of the train station windows. She stood on the platform, the air thick with the smell of wet concrete and diesel, watching the 4:15 to the suburbs recede into the mist. It was a departure that felt less like a journey and more like an amputation, the severing of a limb...

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