The Golden Oath
The coat is still on you. It hangs on the hook by the exit, heavy and damp, smelling of rain and the stale tobacco smoke that clings to the wool like a second skin. You are standing in the hallway of the precinct, the long, sterile corridor where the fluorescent lights hum a low, electric drone that seems to vibrate in your teeth. It is late, or perhaps it is early, the time having lost its...
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