The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 19:07:41 -

The Distant Joke

You stand in the doorway of the ironworks, the heat from the blast furnaces beating against your face like the palm of a god, and in your hands you hold the shattered remains of the blue ceramic bowl that your father spent thirty years trying to make whole again, and you know, with a certainty that settles into your marrow like rust, that this is the end of the pretending, the end of the slow,...

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