The Distant Metropolis
The banquet hall smelled of roasted goose and stale tobacco, a thick, cloying atmosphere that pressed against the back of my throat like a physical weight, and I stood at the periphery of the crowded room, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of my umbrella, feeling the familiar, gritty friction of the worn leather strap against my palm. I was not here to celebrate the opening of the...
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