The Distant Metropolis
The coal dust settles in your lungs like a fine, grey silt, a sediment of industry that coats the taste of every word you speak. You are Enoch. You are the inspector of the third shift. The train does not carry you to a destination so much as it drags you through the viscous dark of the industrial valley, the rhythm of the wheels a mechanical heartbeat that syncs with the arrhythmic thumping of...
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