The Wistful Skyline
Dimitar Ivanovic’s lungs had become a counting room where the ledgers no longer balanced, and the shutter bangs all night reminded him that the world kept time even when he could not. He stood in the counting room of the merchant house on the Swahili coast, the votive figure with the broken arm resting on the shelf behind him, its stone face staring blankly at the dust motes dancing in the...
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