The Distant Joke
The house was always falling. Not crashing, but sliding, a slow, sickening shear where the foundation detached from the earth, leaving the upper floors to dangle in the void like a broken jaw. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of drywall dust in his mouth, his heart hammering against his ribs with the frantic rhythm of a man trying to outrun his own shadow. He was forty years old, a structural...
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