I have imagined this playing out, but there is something blocking my view. Three people are in the room. The walls are a slate grey. A wooden bench has been smashed against the far wall. The three are talking.
I have imagined this turning into a kind of answer to the questions the last ten years have asked. Sheets of rain strike the roof and rattle the room.
I can't seem to understand what anyone is saying. I hear a far off siren. The rain is beginning to slow. The three continue to talk, but I am no closer to understanding what needs to be said.
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