The Golden Downtown
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of Harrow’s End into a slick, treacherous mirror of the slate sky. I stood at the edge of the market square, my hands deep in the pockets of my raincoat, the damp wool clinging to my skin like a second, colder soul. The town was waking up, or perhaps slowly dying, it was hard to tell in this...
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