The Faded Alibi
The coffee had gone cold again, its surface a mirror for the dust motes dancing in the weak afternoon light that filtered through the grime-caked window of the office. I watched the liquid swirl, a slow, brown galaxy that seemed to have no center, no purpose, and no end. It was a small, domestic tragedy, this cup of coffee, and it sat on the desk beside the file that had consumed the last three...
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