The Faded Masquerade
The key was cold, a square of steel that bit into the meat of my thumb as I turned it, the metal slick with the ice that had formed inside the truck cab during the drive out. I had been driving for two hours, the wipers slapping against the windshield in a rhythmic, violent cadence that matched the tremor in my left hand, a tremor that had been growing since the morning I refused to fill out...
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