The Golden Cellar
The morning air in the sterile, windowless corridor of the Federal Correctional Facility at Blackwood Ridge tastes of iron filings and stale coffee, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat and settles into the marrow of your bones, a taste that you have come to associate with the particular flavor of your own erasure, as you stand before the heavy steel door of Cell 404, your hand...
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