The Wistful Dinner
The port of Amman woke with the smell of brine and wet pine, the air thick with the smoke from the fire-scarred hills that had burned for nine days before the sun finally broke through. I walked the length of the Bellfounders' Walk, counting the steps to steady my hands, knowing that the ledger clerk’s life was ending where the superstitious city began. I was Karim Khalil, thirty-two, and I had...
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