The Wistful Crossroads
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, silver sheet that blurred the edges of the city into a watercolor smear of gray and indigo, and I stood in the center of the intersection, watching the water pool in the cracks of the pavement, waiting for the light to change, though I knew the signal would not turn green for me, not today, not ever again, because I was no longer entirely...
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