The Distant Metropolis

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2026-08-21 19:38:33 -

The rain in Chicago does not fall; it presses, a cold, heavy hand against the glass of the taxi window, blurring the neon signs of the South Side into streaks of bleeding violet and sickly yellow. I sit in the back, my knees drawn up, wearing a suit that is too large for the man I have become, a silhouette of hollowed-out grief and trembling hands. The driver, a man with eyes like wet stones...

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