The Faded Photograph
The rain hammered against the glass of the fourth-floor window, blurring the city into a smear of gray and neon. You stood before the mirror in the small office, adjusting your tie, but your eyes kept dropping to your left hand. It was thin. Not thin in the way of aging or illness, but thin in the way of old paper, translucent enough that you could see the blue veins beneath the skin like ink...
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