The Golden Farce

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2026-08-20 05:34:34 -

The Golden Farce

The rain hits the windshield. It is heavy. It is cold. You drive. You have driven for three days. The car is old. It smells of wet wool and rust. Your hands grip the wheel. They do not shake. They never shake. You are a soldier. You know how to hold still. Who do you serve? The question comes from the passenger seat. The man is small. He wears a grey coat. It is soaked through. He looks at you....

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