The Golden Master
The coat was heavy. Wool, dense and dark, woven with a thread that hummed when the wind hit the factory whistle. It hung on the hook by the door, a silent sentry in the dim hallway. I did not touch it. I never touched it. Not anymore. The machine room smelled of ozone and wet iron. My hands trembled as I adjusted the tension on the calibrating arm. A fraction of a millimeter. That was the...
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