The Distant Temple
You are standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a ceramic mug that is already cold, watching the rain streak down the windowpane of the small, rented flat in Bristol, and you think about the coat that is hanging on the hook by the door, the heavy, charcoal-grey wool coat that has belonged to your father since the autumn of nineteen-ninety-eight, the coat that smells of pipe tobacco and...
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