The Wistful Skyline
The rust-colored stain was already there when I pulled the jacket from the closet, a dark smear across the left breast that looked less like blood and more like the dried residue of an old engine oil leak. I ran my thumb over the wool, feeling the grit of the desert dust mixed with the strange, warm viscosity of the discoloration, and I knew immediately that I had lied to Agent Miller about the...
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