The Distant Temple

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2026-08-19 13:00:18 -

The train cuts through the fog. You sit by the window. The glass is cold. Your breath fogs the pane. You wipe it away. The landscape blurs. It is a field of grey. It is a field of white. It is a field of nothing. You are a man of numbers. You are a man of ledgers. You are a man who believes that everything has a price. You believe that debt can be paid. You believe that loss can be balanced....

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