The Golden Farce
The roast chicken sits in the center of the mahogany table, a golden monument to your endurance. The skin is lacquered, crisp, and perfect, reflecting the crystal chandelier above in a thousand fractured shards of light. You have been standing over it for three hours. The heat of the oven has baked the sweat from your brow, leaving a fine residue of salt and exhaustion on your skin. It is...
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