The Golden Visit
The bread is dry. You know this before you touch it. The texture is coarse, gritty, like sandpaper against the tongue. It has no moisture. It has no soul. It is only starch and time. You sit in the stone cell. The light is gray. It comes from a high slit. It does not warm. It only shows. You are the Warden. This is your title. You are the keeper of the Law. The Law is old. Older than the stone....
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