The Pale Shadows
The pen was heavy, a cheap ballpoint that had been refilled so many times the clip was bent, and I held it in my right hand while my left gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned the color of old bone. The truck was cold, the kind of cold that gets into the joints and stays there, and the heater had been making a rattling sound for the last hour, a mechanical cough that matched the...
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