The Golden Oath
The bus pulls away. You watch the dust settle. It is a dry, choking dust. It tastes like iron and old sweat. You stand on the cracked asphalt. The sun is high. It is a white, relentless sun. You feel it on your neck. It burns. You are a soldier. Or you were. The uniform is in a bag in the car. You are just a man now. A man in a flannel shirt. The shirt is too big. It swallows your hands. Your...
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