The Golden Circuit
The brass clasp on your left wrist is warm. It has been warm since the furnace lit in the basement, a heat that does not obey the laws of thermodynamics but obeys the rhythm of your blood. You are sitting in the narrow, damp apartment on the fourth floor of the Ashworth Building, a structure of soot-blackened brick and iron girders that groans under the weight of the city’s industry. Outside,...
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