The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-22 05:28:32 -

The rain in Chicago did not wash things clean; it only made the grime slicker, a cold, oily film that coated the windshields and the wet wool of my coat. I stood at the crosswalk on State Street, the yellow light blinking its slow, indifferent rhythm above me, feeling the weight of the grey tweed jacket I had worn for forty years. It was not merely clothing. It was a skin, a second body that I...

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