The Wistful Witness
The truck shudders. It is a heavy vibration. It lives in your teeth. You grip the wheel. Your knuckles are white. The road is black asphalt. It stretches into the fog. The fog is thick. It tastes like iron. It tastes like old blood. You are driving north. You are driving away. You are driving toward the edge of the world. The radio crackles. It is a low hum. It sounds like static. It sounds...
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