The Golden Circuit
The rain fell in sheets of grey static, blurring the city into a watercolor of wet concrete and neon bleed, and you stood on the corner with a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, its crust crackling with a sound that was too loud in the silence of your head. It was a simple thing, a baguette, heavy with the promise of sustenance, and yet it felt like a stone in your hands, a weight that...
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