The Golden Circuit
The hand was heavy. Not with weight, for my fingers were not so strong as to crush the bone, but with a density that felt like cold stone submerged in deep water. I held it in the palm of my left hand as I wrote this, the skin of my own fingers trembling against the rough, calloused surface of the knuckles. It is a hand that has worked. It is a hand that has been judged. And it is a hand that...
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