The Golden Circuit
You dream of a feast. It is a long table. The wood is dark. The candles are low. You are a scholar. You sit at the head. The food is there. It is not meat. It is not bread. It is light. It glows on the plates. It hums. You reach for it. Your hands shake. You are old. The joints ache. The hunger is sharp. It is a white wire. It pulls at your gut. You must eat. You must live. The dream fades. You...
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