The Wistful Mountain
The building is dying. You know this because the plaster is peeling in long, curling strips, like dead skin. You are a structural engineer. You know how buildings die. You know the load paths. You know where the stress concentrates. You stand in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. The carpet is stained with coffee and time. The chandelier hangs crooked. It sways, though there is no wind. You are here...
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