The Faded Road
The rain in Pittsburgh did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the soot that coated the bricks of the boarding house on Liberty Avenue into a black, weeping sludge that seeped into the cracks of the floorboards and into the joints of my fingers. I sat at the warped desk in the corner of my room, the one where the wood had warped under the weight of years of dampness...
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