The Distant Garden

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2026-08-22 12:26:59 -

The soup was always cold by the time I got to the table, a thick, grey sludge of lentils and root vegetables that tasted of rust and damp earth, and I would sit there in the fluorescent hum of the cafeteria, staring at the surface where the fat had congealed into a pale, waxy film that looked like the skin of a dead thing, and I would think about how I had been the one to break it, how the...

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