The Wistful Show

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2026-08-20 15:34:33 -

The Wistful Show

The mud was cold. It sucked at my boots with a wet, hungry sound, like a mouth trying to swallow the world. I was bleeding from the nose. The blood ran hot down my lip, tasting of copper and old iron. Across the alley, a man stood with his back against the brick wall. He held a revolver in his right hand. His left hand was empty. He looked at me. I looked at him. We did not speak. Words were...

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