The Wistful Incense
The rent is double, or you leave, and I don’t care if you’re an engineer, Gladys, the landlord’s voice was a flat line of static cutting through the fog that ate the sound of the bells in the church across the street. The geometry of the room was wrong. The walls leaned inward like a closing fist, and the light from the single bare bulb was the color of old bruised fruit, a sickly yellow that...
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