The Wistful Skyline
The gavel strikes the mahogany block with a sound like a bone snapping, dry and final, and you are standing in the center of the Senate floor, your tie loosened, your shirt damp with the cold sweat of a man who has just realized he is the monster in his own story. You are not shouting, you are not weeping, you are simply standing there, a pillar of academic respectability that has just cracked...
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