The Wistful Skyline
The smell of stale coffee and industrial floor wax hit me before the vision of the hotel room did, a sharp, chemical bite that stuck to the back of my throat as I set the pen down and stared at the blank page. My hand was steady, which was wrong, because inside my chest there was a vibration like a loose wire in a transformer, humming with the specific frequency of a man who has just decided to...
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