The Wistful Dinner
The plate in Cornelis de Vries’s hand was not merely broken; it was a map of his own fracture, the ceramic shards biting into the meat of his palm where the white glaze had split along a line that mirrored the deep, old scar running from his left ear to his jaw. He stood in the drained community pool, the water long since pumped out into the polder dikes, the smell of wet concrete and stagnant...
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