The Faded Dust
You drive the old sedan through the grey sprawl of the city. The engine coughs. It is a bad sound. Like a lung filling with water. You keep your eyes on the road. You are looking for a house. You have the address in your pocket. It is a slip of paper. It is damp. Your hands are cold. The car slows. You see the street. It is quiet. The houses are old brick. They lean against each other. They...
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