The Golden Downtown
The air in the basement office tastes of chalk dust and stale pipe smoke, a dry, gray powder that coats the back of your throat every time you swallow. You are sitting in the high-backed leather chair, the one that creaks like an old ship’s mast under the weight of your body, and you are staring at the floor, at the specific pattern of the worn velvet where the light from the single bare bulb...
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