The Wistful Show
The road is red dust and silence. You walk it. Your boots crunch against the hardpan. The heat shimmers off the asphalt, a ghost of movement that isn’t there. You are a man on a journey, though you do not know where it ends. You only know it must end. You carry a bag. Inside the bag is a ledger. The ledger is leather-bound. It smells of oil and old sweat. It is heavy. Heavier than it should...
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