The Wistful Cipher
The rain hits the pavement in a staccato rhythm. You count the drops. One. Two. Three. It is a habit. A coping mechanism for the noise inside your skull. You are standing on the corner of 4th and Main. The neon sign for the pharmacy flickers. Buzz. Click. Buzz. It looks like a dying insect trapped in glass. You are Dr. Elias Thorne. Or you were, before the committee voted. Three to two. They...
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