The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 22:14:07 -

The Pale Meridian

The rain stopped. It stopped abruptly. The sky turned gray. I stood on the roof of the Federal Building in Chicago. The wind was cold. It bit through my wool coat. Below, the city moved. Cars. People. Smoke. I held the branch in my hand. It was dry. Brown. Dead. I had picked it up from the park three days ago. It was just a twig. An oak twig. Nothing special. But it felt heavy. It felt real. My...

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