The Faded Ruin
I, II, III Did you think I was dead? That is the question hanging in the back room of the juke joint, the air heavy with stale tobacco and the low hum of the refrigerator. I am sitting on a plastic chair, my legs stretched out, the floorboards creaking under the weight of my bad knees. The light from the single bare bulb above is yellow and thin, cutting a sharp line across the table where my...
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