The Faded Apartment
The rain against the windowpane of the apartment on the fourth floor of the crumbling tenement in East London did not sound like water, but rather like the static hiss of a television tuned to a frequency that had long since ceased to broadcast, a ceaseless, granular noise that seeped into the marrow of your bones and settled there like a fine, grey silt, accumulating over the decades of your...
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