The Wistful Silence
You are standing in the center of the factory floor, the air thick with the smell of hot iron and ozone, and you are holding a wrench in your hand that feels heavier than it should, not because of the steel but because of the fact that you are about to break something that is already broken, and you know this with a certainty that sits in your stomach like a stone, a cold, round, immovable...
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