The Faded Photograph
The coat is too big for you. That is the first thing you notice, the way the sleeves hang past your knuckles like dead vines, the way the collar, stiff with old sweat and new rain, cuts into your neck. It belongs to Arthur. Or rather, it belonged to him, before the fever took him, before the town council decided that the water table was poisoned, before they started selling off the houses to...
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