The Faded Apartment
The chrysanthemums in the window box were dying, their petals curling inward like burned fingers, a slow and silent surrender to the damp October air that had begun to seep through the cracks in the double-glazed panes of my apartment on Miller Street. I stood before them, my hands resting on the cold metal of the railing, watching the way the light fractured through the wilting blooms, a...
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