The Faded Apartment
The rain has not stopped for nine days, and the water that seeps through the cracked tiles of the cellar floor is cold enough to make your bones ache in a way that feels less like weather and more like a judgment passed upon your very marrow. You are sitting in the dark, wrapped in a wool blanket that smells of damp wool and old tobacco, listening to the drumming against the roof which is the...
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