The Distant Joke
The road is not a line but a wound in the earth, and you are the blood that refuses to clot. You have been walking for three days, or perhaps it is only a single, stretched-out afternoon, for time has lost its shape in this place where the pines grow so thick they seem to weave a canopy of silence over the world. You are not a man in the way the people of the valley are men; you are something...
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