The Distant Metropolis
The train shudders, a metal beast waking from a long, cold sleep, and you press your forehead against the glass, watching the gray blur of the Scottish Highlands streak past in a smear of rain and heather. Your hand, trembling slightly, grips the edge of your suitcase, the leather worn thin, the stitching fraying at the corners where it has been opened and closed a thousand times, perhaps ten...
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