The Faded Apartment
My hand was trembling so violently that the crystal tumbler I held in the gilded rotunda of the St. Jude Hotel rattled against the rim, sending a tiny, frantic vibration through the ice, and I watched the liquid shiver as I stared past the chandeliers to the vacant, sun-bleached apartment on the forty-second floor, which had been promised to me in exchange for my silence regarding the...
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