NEEDLES AND THREADS
I. Linus Cole's apartment in Chelsea was exactly as he had left it: a single bed against the far wall, a desk cluttered with pattern paper and graphite pencils, a closet full of garments that no one would ever wear. The radiator hissed at 6:15 AM every morning, which was the closest thing to an alarm clock Linus allowed himself. He was thirty-eight years old and had not designed anything he was...
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