The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall so much as it suspended itself, a fine, gray mist that clung to the high-rise windows of the Meridian Data Processing Center, blurring the city outside into a watercolor of indeterminate shapes and muted lights, a world that seemed to have been washed clean of all sharp edges and hard truths, leaving only the soft, damp residue of existence. Elias Thorne sat at his...
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