The Golden Downtown
The cathedral did not collapse; it exhaled. That is the only way I can describe it. One moment, the stone spire of St. Jude’s, rising above the mud and the fog of the valley, was a needle stitching the earth to a gray, indifferent sky. The next, the air around the granite swelled, thick as blood, and the stone bloomed. It did not break. It opened. Petals of white marble unfurled from the tower,...
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