The Faded Dust
The smell of burnt sugar and copper hangs in the air of the small kitchen, thick and cloying, a physical weight that presses against your chest as you stand over the stove where the pot of soup has boiled over, spilling its rich, brown contents across the linoleum floor and pooling around the base of the refrigerator. It is a Tuesday afternoon in a town where the streets are paved with a...
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