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On an overcast afternoon, he donned his vintage raincoat, a relic of a forgotten era, its once vibrant color now a muted whisper of its former self.
The raincoat had a peculiar hole in the hood, an imperfection that Marcello always neglected to mend, as if the coat's flaw mirrored some aspect of his own soul.

Fuck you.
(, Thu 13 Jun 2024, 23:14, archived)