The Distant Metropolis
The rain does not fall so much as it insists, a gray, relentless curtain that blurs the boundary between the asphalt of the old highway and the wet, breathing dark beyond the guardrails, and you are driving your truck through it with the wipers beating a frantic, syncopated rhythm against the windshield, a mechanical heart trying to keep time with a world that has lost its beat, the engine...
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