The Faded Apartment
The letter on the table was thick, cream-colored, and smelled of the vanilla-scented paper Elias hated, but he did not touch it. He stood by the window, his fingers tracing the splintered wood of the frame, feeling the grit under his nails, while the low hum from the pipes in the wall vibrated against his knuckles. Elias, forty-two, had built a life in this cramped apartment above the hardware...
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