The Wistful Dinner
The rain taps against the windowpane of the parlor, a rhythmic, indifferent drumming that seems to count down the seconds of your remaining life. You are Elias, forty-two, a retired constable, sitting in the chair your father once occupied, the leather creaking under your weight. The house is cold, the kind of damp that seeps into the joints and settles in the lungs, smelling of old paper and...
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