The Pale Dance
The roof came down on a Tuesday, or perhaps it was a Wednesday, the days having bled together into a single, unbroken ribbon of gray misery that stretched from the first crack in the plaster to the final collapse of the beams, a structural failure that began not with a bang but with a sigh, a long, exhaled breath from the house itself, as if the old oak frame were simply too tired to hold up...
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