The Faded Ruin
The rain does not fall so much as it is applied to the city, a greasy, persistent smudge that blurs the edges of the district where you have lived for the last three decades, a place that smells of wet wool and ozone and the faint, metallic tang of the surveillance drones that hover just above the rooftops, their lenses rotating with a slow, hypnotic patience that makes your teeth ache. You sit...
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