The Faded Apartment
The silk lining of my father’s coat was tearing along the seam, a jagged white mouth opening up in the dark fabric, and I held the needle so still that the tip quivered against the thread, my breath coming in shallow, rattling pulls that I tried to hide by coughing into the crook of my elbow. The apartment smelled of starch and old wool, a scent that had settled into the wallpaper over twenty...
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