The Golden Farce
The first thing you notice is the smell. Not the usual damp rot of the lower archives, but something metallic, sharp, like copper pennies left out in the rain. It coats the back of your throat, a persistent, bitter film that no amount of water can wash away. You are standing in the middle of the basement of St. Jude’s Community Center, a place that has been bleeding money for thirty years, and...
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