The Golden Echoes
The rain in Seattle does not fall so much as it insists, a persistent, gray argument against the glass of the windshield, blurring the world into a smear of neon and asphalt as you drive toward the estate sale in Ballard. You are not supposed to be here. You are supposed to be in the office, staring at the quarterly projections for the firm, a junior analyst whose life is measured in billable...
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