The Wistful Campus
The rain in the courtyard of the University of St. Jude did not fall so much as it hung, a grey, suspended curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the ancient, gnarled oak in the center of the quad into a ghostly silhouette against the slate sky. You stood there, thirty-two years old and shivering not from the cold but from the sheer, metallic taste of your own resignation...
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