The Faded Dust
You’re going to tear it down, aren’t you? That was the first thing Silas said, his voice low and raspy like gravel shifting under a boot, the smoke from his pipe curling into the cold, damp air that hung heavy in the alleyway behind the old textile mill. He didn’t look at me, not really. His eyes were fixed on the peeling paint of the building’s side, on the faded dust that seemed to have...
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