The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 01:39:44 -

The rain hit the tin roof. It was a steady, industrial drumming. I sat in the corner. The room was small. The air smelled of wet wool and old pipe tobacco. I am a sergeant. I have worn the uniform for twenty years. My knees ache. The cold gets into the bones. I am not young anymore. Time is a thief. It takes things one by one. First the hair. Then the speed. Now the certainty. I am here because...

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