The Distant Threshold
You are walking. The road is wet. It glows under the streetlights. You walk fast. Your shoes slap the asphalt. *Slap. Slap.* You hear your own breath. It is loud. It is cold. You are looking for the door. The door that should not exist. You know it is there. You have always known. The city is wrong. The buildings are too tall. They lean in. They whisper. You pass a bakery. The smell is stale....
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