The Wistful Asylum
The fluorescent lights in the municipal housing board hummed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in Elias Thorne’s molars, a low, persistent drone that matched the throbbing pain behind his eyes as he stared at the desk of a young man named Miller, who was currently peeling a label off a bottle of water with the detached, surgical precision of a man who had long since ceased to see...
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