He introduced himself as Matthias, with just a hint of a
German accent. Or maybe it was Swiss?
He took his time laying out his things, his fountain pen
resting just so on his yellow lined notepad, a small digital clock positioned
to the side of the table so he could easily glance at the time.
After a few moments of quiet, he sighed softly and then
picked up the pen, unscrewing the top and writing something on the pad.
Then he began to ask me questions, while a figure looming in
the shadows began to slowly break my fingers.
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