The Pale Bridge
The eviction notice lay on the kitchen table, the paper yellowing at the edges where my thumb had rubbed it raw, the ink smudged into a black bruise that looked less like text and more like a stain of dried blood. I read it three times, the numbers stark and cold: two shillings and sixpence owed, forty days to clear the debt or be cast out into the November sleet, the words "defaulting tenant"...
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