The Golden Circuit
October 14th. The wine was red. Thick. It stained the glass. We drank. We spoke. The room was warm. The fire crackled. I watched you. You did not look at me. You looked at the floor. You looked at the cup. You looked at the wall. You did not look at me. I am a soldier. Or I was. The uniform is gone. The rank is gone. The name remains. Thomas. Just Thomas. To them, I am a number. To you, I am a...
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