The Wistful Skyline
You are walking on the blacktop road that cuts through the rust-colored hills of the American West, a road that smells of hot tar and dried sage, and you are walking because if you stop, the weight of the brass buttons on your tunic will crush you, and you are walking because the sky above is a bruised purple, heavy with a silence that feels like it has been waiting for you to arrive, and you...
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