The Faded Alibi
The brass gear was cold, and my thumb was not. I rubbed the polishing cloth across its teeth, a circular motion that had been the rhythm of my life for thirty years, but today the circle broke. My hand jerked, a violent spasm that sent the gear spinning against the edge of the workbench. It was a small sound, a metallic click that sounded like a bone snapping, and it echoed in the silence of...
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