The Wistful Show
The appointment letter arrived on a Tuesday, its envelope thick with the weight of institutional favor, promising me the quiet dignity of the Millhaven precinct. I was thirty-four years old, a man who had spent two decades enforcing order in the chaotic sprawl of the city, and I craved the stillness of a desk, the predictable rhythm of paperwork, the absence of the violent unpredictability that...
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