The Distant Temple
The coat is blue. It is a shade of blue that does not exist in nature, a synthetic, aggressive electric hue that screams against the gray wool of the office. You have worn it for eleven years. It is thinning at the elbows, pilling into small, hard balls of fuzz that catch on the doorframes. It smells of stale coffee and the particular, metallic scent of fear that lingers in a precinct after a...
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