The Faded Attic
The rain against the windowpane of the community center is a rhythmic, persistent tapping, a sound that you have long since ceased to hear because it has become the very texture of your existence, the background hum against which the sharper, more violent noises of your duty must be measured and weighed, and as you sit in the high-backed chair of the precinct’s small, dimly lit briefing room,...
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