Dripping faucet

“The moonlit trees on the horizon, the tall grasses and sign posts beyond the window behind him, all slowed to a near stop, as did her breath and the beating of her heart. Its thudding, held in time like a dripping faucet, echoed loudly in her head. She drove her chin through the mud-thick air to face the front—ahead, where there was now nothing but light.”


From the first paragraph of The Nirvana Threads


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