The Distant Temple
The dream began, as it always did, with the smell of wet coal dust and the metallic tang of copper, a scent that clung to the back of my throat like a physical object, heavy and indigestible, forcing me to wake in the grey, pre-dawn light of our cramped flat above the chandler’s shop on Sutter Street. I lay there in the narrow bed, the mattress springs groaning in protest against the damp chill...
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