The Golden Downtown
The dream does not begin with light, as one might expect of a vision, but with the distinct, rhythmic thrumming of a diesel engine and the smell of wet asphalt, a sensory anchor that holds me fast to a reality that feels simultaneously hyper-real and utterly hollow. I am standing on the edge of a downtown that exists only in the amber haze of my memory, a place where the skyscrapers are not...
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