The Faded River
The invoice lay on the wet concrete, its edges curling into the silt like a dying leaf. It was for the structural reinforcement of Pier 4, a sum of twelve thousand dollars that had hung over the town of Harrow’s End for three years, unpaid, unacknowledged, a debt written in ink that smelled of mildew. I picked it up. The paper was soft, saturated with the cold that seeps into the bones of...
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