The Golden Maze
You are standing in the antechamber of the new steel palace, a place that smells of ozone and wet iron, and you are wearing the coat that belonged to your father, the one with the buttons worn smooth by decades of anxious fingers, and you know that if you do not speak now, if you do not offer the weight of your history to the man on the high dais, you will vanish into the gears of this machine...
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