The Golden Farce

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2026-08-18 23:09:18 -

The Golden Farce

The rain does not fall here; it is delivered, with a kind of bureaucratic indifference, straight onto your skin. You are standing in the doorway of the fire station, the yellow canvas of your raincoat slick and heavy, the smell of wet dog and diesel oil hanging thick in the air of the small town of Oakhaven. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days have begun to bleed into one another...

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