The Pale Shadows
Joon-young Bae owed four hundred dollars for a knee that would not stop clicking. He stood in the pharmacy window at the corner of Ninth and Mill, watching the rain turn the asphalt into a slick, black mirror. The clerk, a man with ink-stained fingers, tapped the counter. The sound was a small, hard thud. Joon-young looked at the urn on the shelf. It was the size of a loaf of bread, white and...
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