The Golden Compass
The snow is falling. It falls in thick, wet sheets. You are in the van. The engine ticks. It cools down. You watch the flakes hit the glass. They melt. They run. They streak the view into gray smears. You have the case. It is heavy. It rests on your lap. You do not open it. Not yet. You know what is inside. You have known for years. You are a fixer. A restorer. People bring you broken things....
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