The Distant Garden
The coat hangs on the hook. It is red. It is wrong. You look at it. You look at the door. You look at the coat again. It does not belong to you. It has always not belonged to you. But today, for the first time, it feels like a cage. "Is it warm in here?" asks Mr. Sterling. He stands by the window. He is holding a glass of whiskey. He is not drinking it. He is just holding it. His hand is...
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