The Distant Affair
The train had been delayed for three hours and the carriage smelled of stale tobacco and damp wool, a scent that seemed to cling to the skin like a second, unwelcome layer, and I sat by the window watching the industrial outskirts of Manchester bleed into the fog, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold, the ceramic rim biting into my fingertips with a dull,...
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