The Golden Farce
The glass is in your hand. It is warm. It is wet. You are running. The rain is cold. It hits your face. It hits the glass. It mixes. You do not stop. Your lungs burn. Your legs shake. You are seven years old. You are in the city. The city is gray. The city is loud. The city is wrong. You hold the vial tight. It is your anchor. It is your life. It is the only thing that makes sense. You trust...
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