The Distant Metropolis
The rain does not fall so much as it hangs, a suspended curtain of grey water that blurs the edges of the highway where your truck idles, the engine ticking as it cools, the wipers slapping a rhythm that feels less like maintenance and more like a desperate attempt to keep the world from dissolving into the mud that is already rising around the tires. You are Dr. Elias Thorne, or at least you...
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