The Pale Tower
The concrete dust settled on Esperanza Escobedo’s knees as she brushed the debris from the eastern foundation, her fingers working the grey powder into the creases of her palms. She was thirty-two, and for the first time in her life, the ground beneath the city hall felt like it might give way entirely. The Pale Tower, newly erected and proud, had split open like a rotten fruit, its eastern...
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