The Faded Road
The train hisses. Steam curls. You step off. The air is cold. It bites your face. It smells of coal. It smells of wet stone. It smells of old paper. You are in Harrowgate. You carry a box. It is heavy. It is full of books. They are your life. They are your shield. They are now your burden. You walk. The road is long. It is faded. The paint on the signs is peeling. The cobblestones are slick....
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