The Wistful Skyline
The rain has been falling on Chicago for three days now, a relentless, gray curtain that blurs the sharp edges of the city into a watercolor smear of steel and glass. You are sitting in the window seat of a coffee shop on the North Side, watching the street below, your fingers wrapped around a mug of tea that has gone cold an hour ago. You are thirty-four years old, and you feel the weight of...
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