The Golden Downtown
The air in the Great Hall of the Municipal Exchange did not merely smell of roasting goose and spiced wine; it smelled of the old ironworks, of the coal dust that had settled into the pores of the city’s skin a century prior, a scent that clung to the wool of my greatcoat and the brass of my badge like a second, heavier skin. We had gathered there, the officers and the men, to mark the...
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