The Wistful Campus

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2026-08-20 22:49:03 -

The train smelled of wet wool and rust, a heavy, metallic scent that stuck to the back of my throat like a bad penny. I was holding a ticket to Leeds, but my mind was still on the platform in Manchester, where the rain had been coming down in sheets, washing the grime off the faces of the commuters who looked like ghosts drifting through their own lives. I wasn't a ghost, though. I was solid, I...

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