The Distant Metropolis
The rain had been falling for three days, a grey, relentless curtain that turned the cobblestones of the Whitehall district into slick, black mirrors reflecting the grim facades of the government buildings. I stood in the shadow of the Customs House, my hands tucked deep into the pockets of my wet overcoat, feeling the cold seep through the wool and into the marrow of my bones, a physical ache...
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