The Golden Circuit
The ink is still wet when I look at it, a dark bruise spreading across the white paper, much like the stain on my conscience that will not wash out. It is October in Millhaven, a town where the fog rolls in off the river every morning and sits in the streets until noon, hiding the sins of the day. I am sitting in the kitchen of my childhood home, the one I was supposed to have sold three years...
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