The Faded Apartment
The chisel bites into the oak, a sharp, dry sound that cuts through the low hum of the workshop’s breath. You pull the blade free, and the shaving curls away, pale and fragile, landing on the floor where it joins a carpet of dust and old splinters. Your hands are stained dark with sap and sweat, the skin tight and cracked at the knuckles, a map of your forty-two years spent bending wood to your...
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