The Faded Apartment
The air in the hall tastes of dust and old iron, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat as you stand before the mirror. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days have blurred into a single, gray smear of industrial hum and damp brick. You are in the apartment on 4th Street, the one with the peeling wallpaper that looks like flaking skin, and you are here because you must....
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