The Golden Circuit
The letter is dated October 14th. The ink is blue, fading at the edges where my thumb has rubbed it too many times. I am writing this from a motel room in Nebraska. The carpet is a shade of beige that seems to absorb the light rather than reflect it. My left hand is in a splint. The bone is broken. It will heal, but the nerve damage will likely be permanent. I will never feel the cold again on...
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