The Wistful Witness
The zipper of my leather jacket stuck, as it always did, and I forced the teeth apart with a thumbnail that had turned white at the edge, the smell of old sweat and wet wool rising from the fabric as I pulled it over my shoulders. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have spent twenty years of my life standing on the line between the states, writing my final report from a remote...
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