The Golden Farce
The rain hits the tin roof of the depot like a static charge, a relentless, metallic hiss that vibrates through the floorboards and up into the soles of your boots. You are hunched over the workbench, the blue light of the UV lamp humming a low, anxious note in the center of the room, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the stale air like trapped ghosts. In your hands, you hold the...
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