PREVIEW

... like the aftertaste of burnt copper, the kind that coats the tongue long after you’ve spat the ash from your mouth.

I told myself I wasn’t afraid, because fear was a luxury for men who had time to run. I told myself this with the same conviction I tell myself I’ll stop drinking after the third cup, which is to say not very convincingly.

Fear sits in the marrow; you can sandpaper the words all you like, but the bone remembers. And today, bone and marrow alike seemed to hum with th ...

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