The Golden Maze
The rain on the windshield is a static hiss, a white noise that fills the cab of the truck and drowns out the engine’s low growl. You are driving north, up the spine of the Appalachian range, where the asphalt thins and the world turns to gray stone and wet pine. It is late November, and the air inside the vehicle is cold enough to see your breath when you lean forward to check the rearview...
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