The Distant Joke

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2026-08-17 20:59:38 -

The Distant Joke

The fog clung to the iron ribs of the bridge. It tasted of rust and wet coal. I stood on the pedestrian walkway. My boots were heavy. The leather was cracked. The cold bit into my fingers. I held my lantern. The glass was fogged. I could not see my own hands. Below, the river moved. It was black. It was fast. It swallowed the light from the streetlamps. The city roared in the distance. A low,...

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