The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-23 23:23:43 -

The ink was fading, not from age, but from neglect, a slow evaporation of memory that left the paper white and the names gone. I counted the hours I had spent in the waiting room, four of them, watching the dust motes dance in the shaft of light that cut through the grime of the municipal office window, calculating the cost of the train fare back to where I had been someone. My eyes were...

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