The Wistful Skyline
The rain in Seattle did not fall so much as it suspended, a fine, misty grey curtain that blurred the distinction between the wet asphalt and the damp air, a perpetual state of humidity that seemed to seep into the marrow of the bones and dissolve the hard lines of the city into a slurry of neon and shadow. Margot stood at the window of her fourth-floor apartment, watching the traffic crawl...
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