The Golden Myth
The taste of the antacid is chalky, a cold white dust that coats the back of your throat and refuses to dissolve, settling in the hollow of your stomach like a small, silent grave. You are alone in the breakroom of the Whitmore & Sons Textile Mill, a space that smells of burnt coffee, wet wool, and the metallic tang of old rust, and the air is thick with a humidity that seems to press against...
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