The Faded Road
The dream does not wake you; it simply refuses to let go, holding you in a grip of wet wool and cold iron until the distinction between sleeping and being awake dissolves into a gray, humming static. You are standing in the middle of a street that should not exist, a thoroughfare paved with the cracked backs of old coins, under a sky the color of a bruise that has been pressed too hard. The air...
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