The Golden Circuit
You dream of the glass. It is a thick pane, curved like a shield, separating you from the world. You press your forehead against it. The cold bites through the skin. You can see the other side. You can see the green. You can see the birds. You wake up in the chair. The chair is vinyl. It is beige. It smells of lemon polish and old sweat. You are in the office. The fluorescent lights hum. It is...
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