The Wistful Skyline
October 14 The ink smudges when the humidity rises, which is fitting, given the state of my lungs. I am thirty-four years old and I have twelve years of service left before my pension vests, a number that used to feel like a horizon but now feels like a countdown to a sentence I haven’t committed to yet. The town of Oakhaven is quiet today, the kind of quiet that settles after a storm, thick...
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