The Golden Crossing
The glass is heavy in your hands. It is a cylinder, cold and smooth, filled with a liquid that glows faintly gold. You have carried it for three days. It weighs exactly two kilograms. You know this because you weighed it on the industrial scale in the basement of the municipal building. The needle trembled. It held. You are leaving the city. Or the city is leaving you. It does not matter. The...
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