The Wistful Asylum
The banquet hall of the St. Jude’s Rehabilitation Center for Veterans did not smell of food, but of damp wool and old paper, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a forgotten apology, while the chandeliers, draped in tinsel that had long since yellowed to the color of dried teeth, cast a brittle, fractured light over the rows of folding chairs where the men sat in their silence,...
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