The Faded Alibi
The ceramic vessel sits on the workbench, a shard of what was once a seamless whole, its glaze a dull, matte gray that has absorbed the light of the workshop for three years. It is not a complete pot. It is a fragment, a broken rim with a jagged edge that cuts the air if you press your thumb too close. You know this object. You know it because it is you. The room is cold. Outside, the rain...
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