The Faded Dust

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2026-08-21 22:55:39 -

The Faded Dust

The coat hangs on the peg by the door. It is a heavy thing, made of wool so dark it seems to absorb the light of the small parlor. You touch the sleeve. The fabric is worn thin at the elbow. You have worn it for thirty years. It was your father’s. He gave it to you the day he died, or perhaps the day before. Memory blurs the edges of that final week. The house is quiet. The wind rattles the...

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