The Golden Scar
The coat is red. It has always been red. You wear it. The wool is heavy. It smells of smoke and iron. It is the only thing that fits. The fabric clings to your skin like a second dermis. It breathes when you breathe. It sweats when you sweat. It is not clothing. It is a shell. The city is gray. The buildings are tall. They scrape the sky. They look like teeth. They chew the light. You walk...
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