The Distant Metropolis
The air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Community Center was thick, not merely with the humidity of the November rain that had been drumming against the sealed shutters for the past forty-eight hours, but with the heavy, cloying scent of roasted pork, aged vinegar, and the sharp, metallic tang of anxiety that seemed to permeate the very plaster of the walls, creating a sensory environment...
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