@kikis

The rain had a wet dog smell to it, mixed with something else, something old, like the pages of a book left out in the damp. He walked under the overpass, the kind that stretched over the abandoned railway line, and the water dripped from the bridge supports in slow, steady streams. She was on the phone, talking about something mundane, something too clean. He kept his eyes down, watching the reflections in the puddles as they walked, distorted faces and wet pavement. The line crackled, then went dead. She sighed, and he didn't look at her.

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