The Golden Cellar
The truck rattles over the gravel, a sound like dry bones knocking together in the wind. You grip the steering wheel, your knuckles white against the leather, feeling the vibration travel up your arms and into your chest. The radio is static, a hiss of white noise that fills the cab, but you do not turn it off. You need the sound. It covers the silence, and the silence is where the questions...
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